HALO
by leeeel
Summary: At only 35, Michonne's staring at the end of her seemingly perfect life, but when the seemingly perfect stranger Rick Grimes steps in to help save her, is it with no strings attached? (No longer a One-Shot)Mini-Fic.
1. Chapter 1

**HALO**

Terror:

The emotion is inexplicable, in so many ways. From my personal experience, to be truly terrified, is to be possessed by a force, which snatches away your God-given ability to breathe. For me, right now, the intense sensation has triggered a fatal tightening within my chest. More so than the slabs of concrete I am lodged beneath.

 _'Death is better than living in crippling fear.'_ Once, a kidnap-victim said those words to me. But I refused to accept such a defeatist belief.

Now, though, as I lay on my back in a tomb of rubble, with my legs numb, my arms twisted, my face warm and sticky with blood… now, I am not so sure. Now I find myself more inclined to welcome the relief.

Still, despite the shocking pain rippling through my body, and the hopeless thoughts rampaging through my brain, I scream for help, again and again. But no one hears me. I have been trapped in here for an eternity, and still _no one_ hears me… and I hear no one. The brick and stone walls offer nothing but cold silence.

Is anyone out there, searching for me? Or is my death in here a certainty? Andre, my baby, may never again lay his eyes on me.

Not once did it occur to me my life would end this way. How could I? I'm not a soldier. I don't live in a war torn country. I have no enemies… Wait, scratch that last part. ' _Michonne, you're the Assistant DA of Atlanta, Georgia. Of course you have enemies.'_

Yes, but are any of them capable of such an atrocity? To set off an explosion in the middle of a school, at the beginning of the day? Was the attack even related to me? The tragedy seemed to be too much of a coincidence.

"Help," I cry out once more, my blistered lips salty with tears. Every breath is labored, and my eyes struggle to stay open. I'm trying to hold on. But in due course, my mind drifts its way out of consciousness.

"Hello… Is anybody here?"

From a distance, a weary male voice jolts me back into awareness. As my eyes blink open, they burn from the dust.

"Hello? It's Fire Rescue Services. Call out." His crunching steps draw closer.

At first, I don't respond, unsure if my desperation is manifesting itself in the form of a hallucination.

"If anyone's here, if you can, please call out."

"I'm here." My voice comes out so hoarse and in a whisper, the ragged sound surprises me. I swallow hard to wet my dry throat. I draw in a deep, painful breath before trying again and I yell, "I'm here!"

Out of the darkness a light shines, cutting through the debris and dusty air. "I'm here!" I shout again, louder.

"Hold on. I'm coming alright." I hear the man speak into a walkie-talkie "Lieutenant to Team One. Hey guys, we've got another survivor down here. Let's hurry things up, shall we?" He crawls in between the rubble, and soon a fireman emerges before me. Through squinting eyes, I inspect him in disbelief. _'Thank you, thank you, thank you God.'_

He removes his helmet and shuffles his body next to mine with the warmest smile. "Hey. You okay?"

"Please, help me," I whimper. "Please get me out."

"Ssh it's alright, it's alright…" His gaze assesses my situation, but his hands don't dare go into action. "… We're here to do just that. Just look at me now, okay? I'm Lieutenant Grimes, and right now, there's a dozen officers making their way through. I know you've been here long, it's been eleven hours, but all you have to do, is hold on…" He scans the steel beam rendering me motionless. "… just a little bit longer. You think you can do that?"

The reassurance in his voice soothes me, I can't help myself and I begin to sob. "Yeah, I can."

"Good," He shifts closer, inches away from my face, and narrows his eyes at me. "Hey, you wanna tell me your name?"

"Michonne," I reply in between my sniffling.

He tilts his head and grins, "As in Michonne Anthony?"

I nod.

"Thought you looked familiar. Seen you on TV… You've been handling that domestic case."

I smile back at the boyish enthusiasm on his face. "Yeah… that's me."

"Alright Mrs. Anthony. Now this is what I'm gonna do, okay? I'm just gonna take a peek at this gash right here…" Removing his gloves from his hands, he reaches out and brushes the side of my cheek, "… good, it don't look so deep. But I see what's going on down there with your legs. Can you tell me if you feel anything else is broken?"

I shake my head. "No, I don't think so."

"What about your arms? Can you feel that?"

"Yeah, but I can't, I can't move them." I try to budge a little as proof. Both limbs are pinned between my body and stone. "What happened here?" The question has been hounding my mind ever since the walls burst inwards slamming me down onto the floor.

The fire officer goes silent for a beat. His expression stiffens and his attention falls away from my face. "Car bomb…" His voice is edgy with disgust, "...two of them, on both sides of the campus."

I squeeze my eyes shut in horror _. 'Two?'_

"Who? Why?"

"We don't know as yet. Too much chaos is happening right now. But don't, don't worry about that alright. Just focus on making it out of here alive. No more dozing off."

I look back at him, feeling more than at ease. "No more dozing off," I repeat in a whisper. Less than two minutes in his presence and suddenly I can breathe again. I feel safe. I'm going to make it out of my tomb. I'm going to be okay. So calm and collected, so professional, I wonder how long he's been with the squad. I've had the unfortunate experience of working with decades-old officers, who, at the drop of a hat, just lose their shit when all hell breaks loose.

He inches back a bit, and places the flashlight in a standing position between us. He raises himself into a crouching position, his hands clasp in front of him, and a distant look glazes over his eyes.

I find myself staring, needing to know what's on his mind. "What's wrong?"

"Have to say, Mrs. Anthony… you're an impressive woman. Both here, and in court. They umm, they've been hard on you. It's an old boys club – Georgia's legal system."

His response catches me off-guard. Is he attempting to distract me? "Try the whole world Lieutenant."

He nods with a ghost of a smile but his gaze remains pensive. "But you've been strong, like you are right now. No matter what they come at you with, you've been standing your ground. Your job, you're good at it. This councilman, he needs to be brought to justice, and you're the one who can. That's why they've been attacking you. They're afraid of you."

I understand his intentions but I have no interest in talking about work right now. Or the hell my family and I have been put through.

He scratches his brow with his thumb when I go silent. "Your husband, he must be proud of you? He's always there supporting you."

No, that's for show. Mike thinks I'm too focused on making a name for myself. "Lieutenant Grimes," I sigh, "How much longer… till your team gets here?"

"Not much longer…but they're coming."

I believe him, though only undisturbed quietness surrounds us.

"You have a child, right Mrs. Anthony? Think I read that in the paper at some time."

He's relentless, I give him that. "Just Michonne," I correct him. "And yeah I do… A three-year old boy… His name is Andre."

"And he's umm, he's amazing I'm sure."

"He's perfect."

Defeated, he shakes his head and chuckles. "Never figured you'd be so bashful for such a big shot lawyer."

"Yeah well…"

"No I get it." Leaning forward, he anchors his rueful blue eyes to the slab on top of me, and sweeps his hand across it. "Look, this cement block here, that's pressing in on you, I can't move it by myself. I wish that I could. But, my guys… they, _are_ , coming for you. I guarantee it. I don't want you to give up, okay? I'm trying to –"

"I know what it is you're trying to do."

"Well then, how about you meet me half way, alright? Don't make it hard for me Mrs. Anthony."

I suck in my lips and nod in compliance.

"Good. So talk to me." He sits folding his legs beneath him. "Tell me why you're here today."

"Came to give a lecture to the Criminal Justice department. Originally scheduled for last week, but got postponed for this morning."

"And now you're stuck here, I'm sorry about that."

"Why should you be? It's not your fault." I shake my head recalling those last moments I spent walking down the hallway memorizing my notes. My thoughts were unfocused; Mike's hurtful words were cycling through my head.

 _'You don't love me. I don't love you. We need to get a divorce.'_

I kept wondering why he chose this particular morning to ambush me like that.

"Michonne?"

"Mmm…" I realize I've gone quiet again, and I bring my eyes to meet his.

"Hey what are you thinking about?"

 _'Me?'_ I respond in my head. _'I'm thinking about how everything in my life has literally imploded in less than a day. Thinking about how many of the one hundred and twenty students and faculty, who were waiting for me, lost their lives because I couldn't keep a damn appointment. I'm thinking about…_ "Desire," I whisper. "I'm thinking about desire, and what it means to me."

"And what is it to you? It's subjective isn't it?"

"To long for something or for someone…"

"A longing from deep within? From the pit of your stomach?"

"No. Deeper. From your kidneys Lieutenant. It then spreads everywhere like a virus. I, desire, to live… To survive… To see my baby's face again, and to hold him and kiss him till he turns red with giggles."

"You will," he nods at me, "I'm here to make sure of that."

"Cocky aren't you?" I tease. "You have no idea… the extent of my injuries."

"You're right I don't. But I just believe okay?"

"Faith?"

"Yeah. Faith. I have faith, in you. Been down here this long. You're special and strong. You're gonna live... What about your husband?"

I furrow my brows. "What about him?"

"You don't desire to see him again?"

I shake my head. I used to desire him, but… "Disappointment squashed those flames for me." I'm stunned as I let my thoughts escape past my lips.

But Rick doesn't react to my private confession. "I'm sure he's scared for you. From his interviews, he seems to be a man who's good and who's kind."

"He is." Mike's on the board of half a dozen charities, and attends endless fundraisers every year. "But he's also a jackass, just like the rest of them."

He laughs. "Present company excluded I hope."

"Hope so too. But I don't know you. I'm not _your_ wife. Who you are behind closed doors, out of the expectant eyes of your colleagues and your friends. Who's to say Lieutenant? We all hide who we really are, don't we?"

He pouted his mouth and shook his head in mild protest. "I'd like to think that I'm different. Besides, women aren't saintly daisies either."

"No, we're not. But you can't get enough of us, can you?"

He laughs again, a deep, husky sound filled with sincere delight and I find myself grinning with him. "That's desire," he says. "For a man it surpasses all reasoning."

"It applies to all of us doesn't it? Our craving is just different."

"For women? It's deeper, from the kidneys like you said."

"And it's connected… to our hearts, to our minds. Although… the twenty-five year olds who intern with the office would highly disagree."

He quirks his eyebrow at me. "Some thirty-five year olds too."

I chuckle so hard and I begin to choke. _'Not cute Michonne.'_ Wait, what?

"I'm sorry, don't do that please. You okay?" he asks, stroking the top of my head, as I clear my throat.

"I'm okay," I lie. He knows cause he's staring into my water filled eyes, but nods anyway taking my word for the truth.

"We should stop," he offers quietly.

"You said they were coming. Is that for real?"

"It is. They need to make a clear deep path, but one wrong move and, it'll all come down. All this debris," Tilting his head back, his gaze moves skyward. "…would collapse on top of us. They got a rescue dog, name's Titus. Now I'll admit, he, he doesn't see too well, won't lie to you about that."

I can't help but giggle. Thought he said we should stop?

"But his nose…" He taps the side of his nostril, "…is the sharpest in the program."

"Titus huh? That's a hell of a name."

"He lives up to it you can trust me on that."

"I do. I trust you Rick." I admit.

For a while, neither one of us says anything now.

Strange enough I start to miss his sound so I'm the one who chooses to speak. "My umm, my husband… He couldn't live up to his name." The Anthony's have been a prominent family in Georgia for the past three generations. It was disappointing, the discovery of not having an equal. "Realized too late that I married someone needing to be pushed to do what was necessary for our family's happiness. He called me a nag, an irritating bitch, amongst other things, so I learned to keep my mouth shut, to swallow my sadness, and to push myself forward."

He rubbed my shoulders consolingly. "That's understandable. Better to avoid the arguing. Those angry words come out sharper than any knife. You wanted to have peace."

"I did. But I chose him, Rick, so, the joke is on me. Still, I never allowed myself to deteriorate because of it. I do what I have to do. I cook, I clean, I help pay the bills. I raise his child. I wear the right clothes, I say the right things…"

"The perfect wife."

"But not perfect enough. Maybe I desired too much. Maybe I expected too much in return."

"What did you expect?"

"For him to be my partner. But he wasn't, and he just couldn't… in too many ways." Discouraged from confiding in him, I discovered I have a husband to whom I couldn't turn to for contentment. "Still… he took… care of me, the best way he knew how… And I am grateful for that."

"How?"

"By feeding me... Just, like… his… mother…" Exhaustion, in an instant, washes over me, and I am signing off.

"Hey stay with me now." He grasps my chin and shakes me. "Come on. Michonne, stay with me. Aww hell! My guys, they're the best. They're working like crazy to get you out."

Battling to stay awake, I hear him shuffling around.

"Tell me, what's your boy's name again? Michonne!"

"Andre," I moan.

"Yeah Andre. I'm sure he's beautiful and smart, just like his mama."

My eyes flutter open, brimming with tears. Rick is crouching behind my head now, hovering directly over me.

"There you are," Relief flashes in his eyes. "Definitely beautiful," he whispers. "Please, stay with me alright? The thing is Michonne, I share that same desire as you. I desire for you to live," he says. "To see Andre again. Watch him grow up and become a man. It's why I'm here."

"It's your job."

"True, but I need you to make it. To hold on. The truth about desire is, once it goes unfulfilled, it can leave you devastated. So don't devastate me. Don't give up."

"Tired."

"I know."

My clothes, they're soaking, I am bleeding out somewhere. "Think I might die down here." Tears start slipping down my face.

"No I don't accept that. And neither should you."

He rests a warm hand on my cheek. Closing my eyes I lean into his palm starved for comfort.

"Hey, hey Michonne, look at me."

I am weak, and in wretched agony, but I obey.

His unguarded eyes pin me, "You're gonna make it." No longer calm, his tone is pleading and the expression on his face is so flush with emotion. "You can survive this."

"You don't know me."

His gaze falls away. "It's true. Maybe you just remind me of someone—"

He stops suddenly.

"Ssh…" Lifting his head his neck whips to the left, and then to the right. "Ssh… Listen."

Through the rubble I detect sounds. Muffled sounds. Sirens and voices.

Rick squeezes my shoulders. "Call out Michonne."

Again, without question, I do as I'm told. "I'm here."

The voices get louder but still fainted.

Moving his hands, Rick now cradles my face. "Again."

I draw in a deep breath… "I'm here."

"Good. One more time. Louder."

"I'm, here!" I scream so hard daggers shoot up my neck. My muscles strain, I begin to tremble, and I, I black out.

But not before I hear…

"Fire Rescue Services. We hear you. We're coming to get you out."

~0~0~0~0~

Blaring noise, blinding lights, and a distinct coolness caressing my face yanks me back to the world. I am outside, a brace is wrapped around my neck, and I'm being lifted and carried away. Weary faces with determined voices surround me. I scan each one for the man I recognize. "Lieutenant Grimes? Stay with me." I manage to moan.

"Ma'am please, don't try to speak," someone random says. "We got you. Let us take care of you. You're gonna be okay."

Everything hurts. Every inch of my body feels broken. Mind numbing pain pulsates through me with every breath.

Still… I don't listen. "Please Sir, let him come with me. Please?" My voice is so raspy, my throat is filled with dust and gravel and I strangle on every word but still… "I want… Lieutenant… Grimes."

A strapping man looks at me as confused as I feel right then. "No Ma'am. I'm Lieutenant Douglas, but if you want I could ask around and have him come see you at Mercy hospital."

 _'Ask around?'_

"Hey Espinosa, we got the Assistant DA out."

"Ease her over here guys." A woman responds, as I am transferred onto another gurney.

Lieutenant Douglas leans over me. "You need to relax. Let the medics take care of you. Rosita here is the best." He then turns to the medic. "Hey tell Aaron to step on it okay. She's busted up pretty badly. Probably bleeding into the brain."

Lieutenant Douglas watches as my legs are inspected and splinted by both medics in a flash before being placed in the back of an ambulance.

Ms. Espinosa positions a stethoscope against my chest.

"Lt. Grimes."

She lowers her head to my mumbling lips. "Excuse me?"

"Lt. Grimes."

"Umm, hey T-Dog," she hollers, "You got a Grimes on your squad now?"

He shoots her a worried look. "I, I don't know who that is. Maybe from engine 142, but they're on the other side."

Wait what did he mean on the other side? He was with me. Rick was sitting _right_ behind me. O God, they didn't leave him down there, did they?

The woman examines my eyes with her light. "Ma'am stay calm. You're gonna be alright. The Docs at Mercy will have you fixed up in no time. Just do me a favor, and stay, calm."

I don't realize what's happening till she lightly rests her palm on my heaving chest.

"We're gonna help you to breathe."

In the next second, the bus's double doors are shut, and the ambulance is whisking me away.

Even with a mask on my face now, I am struggling to stay awake, to stay lucid. I feel as though I'm being sucked down inside a black and cold tunnel, back into the terrifying darkness, and I cannot help but hope, maybe Rick is there –

"She's crashing!" A voice shouts in the distance. "Aaron step on it! Forget Mercy Hospital. Call Piedmont tell 'em we're coming. Ma'am hold on, don't let go… Shit she's not responding."

I want to see my son. I want to fight… but my strength fails me.

~0~0~0~0~0~

On a wave of dizziness I make my way back to consciousness. It takes me a few seconds to figure out where the hell I am. The smell of latex and bleach infiltrate my senses, and a pretty young blonde, in ugly green scrubs, with a clipboard in her hand is standing near me.

"Mrs. Anthony, it's so good that you're back with us. How do you feel?"

"L-like hell," I croak, as I raise my hand to my now bandaged head. Through my grogginess I observe my legs are both in casts and propped up, and one of my arms is in a sling.

"That's completely understandable," she says, while checking my pulse, "It was touch and go for the past twenty-four hours."

"Where am I?"

"You're at Piedmont Hospital, Ma'am. I'm Nurse Greene. But, Beth is fine. Do you remember anything that happened? Do you know why you're here Ma'am?"

I pause for a few seconds piecing together my memories. "Explosion at the University," I breathed, watching her adjust my IV.

"That's good. Well your surgery went extraordinarily well, as to be expected, seeing as how our head of surgery is the very best in the state. He actually cleared his board to attend to you. Our County's ADA deserves the best."

"Well I'd like… to thank him... sometime today."

"Of course."

"My husband?"

"Mr. Anthony is already waiting in the lobby. But I wanted to make sure you were up for that." The nurse gives me a knowing look, abreast with political gossip I'm sure.

She peeks out the door window. "Oh there he is right now."

"Mike?"

"And your life saver, Doctor Grimes."

The utterance of that name causes my eyes to snap to hers. "Wait, who?"

Despite my paralyzing pain I force myself to catch a glimpse of the individual on the other side of the door, but his back faces me. He shifts to the side slightly and he _seems_ familiar but…

 _'No. That's insane.'_

…I dispel that thought immediately.

"If you want you could rest some more after the doctor sees you. Just give me a second, you're probably thirsty, let me get you some ice chips and I'll be back."

As soon as the door closes, I shut my eyes again, trying to recall precisely everything that's led me here, trying to decipher which parts of my experience I should and shouldn't believe.

However, a strange sensation grips me. I am not alone. Another presence is still in the room.

"Hey, you okay?"

My eyes jolt open, and I glance to my right. Still donning his dusty uniform, is the elusive Lieutenant Grimes at my bedside. My heart nearly leaps out of my chest. I want to, to scream, to cry, to yell…

 _'You left me. Where did you go? How are you even here right now? How the hell did you get in?'_

…but I'm too stunned and my voice gets stuck in my parched throat.

My monitor instead, does the talking for me, it starts beeping like crazy.

Reaching over, he switches off the machine, then his hand nears to my face to touch me. But I sink down into my bed because _this_ is not real. People don't simply appear out of thin air. Exhausted, I must have fallen back to sleep, or, maybe I never even woke up. Either way, I do not trust what I am seeing.

"Told you my guys, they were gonna get you out, didn't I?"

Squeezing my eyes shut again, I try to will the "vision" away.

"My name is Michonne Duvant-Anthony," I mutter to myself. "I was born on June 14th. In the tenth grade I fell off my horse —"

"And you got a scar on your shoulder," he finishes for me.

 _'What the bloody hell!'_

I lift my gaze to his and I am met with that cocky grin.

"You son of a… How do you know that? Who are you?"

"Who am I?"

"Yes. Are you real?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know what to think, Lieutenant. Were you even down there? And if you were, tell me, why did you leave me? Why didn't you stay?"

"My part was to keep you alive."

"Your part?" Does he really expect me to believe this? "You're not making any sense."

"Listen, I don't have much time, and I can't explain everything to you. Sorry bout that, I truly am. But here's the deal alright. Stay calm and pay attention."

Just like before, I follow his orders and I go silent.

With his brows raised , his eyes are imploring with me. "I was instructed to appear to you with a face that you'd know."

 _'Instructed to appear? Great, more bullshit. Nurse Greene must've given me something. '_

"But I don't know you… him."

"Actually, you just don't remember, but yeah, you two met once before, because your husband knows him quite well… And eventually so will you."

I press my fingers to my temple to ease the throbbing pain..

"That man out there, Dr. Grimes? He's important to a lot of people. And soon, even more so. You see, they're gonna need him to put up a fight for their survival. But first, _he_ needs something. Someone…"

Raising my palm, I know I've heard enough. "Stop this please."

There's a knock at the door, I glance across the room and I glance back, only to find my visitor is gone. I make a quick search of the entire room and nothing.

 _'This is outrageous.'_

If they haven't done one as yet, a CT-scan is imperative.

Nurse Greene re-enters, this time with the savior surgeon. My eyes widen and I am staring in complete disbelief. I am lost in some dream world. Nothing at all is making any sense. How is any of this possible? People like me don't believe in –

 _'But it's the same face, Michonne.'_

"Sir, you're right on time," Beth says. "Our patient is up and is eager to meet you."

He smiles. "She is?"

It's the same heartwarming smile.

He stands over me and offers his hand. I don't take it. I don't breathe.

"I'm extremely happy to see that Mrs. Anthony. Hi, I'm Doctor Richard Grimes. But you can call me—"

"Rick?"

 **A/N:** I sincerely hope I have not offended anyone with this short-story. If I did, I humbly apologize.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Hi, everyone. First off I am really in shock at the response to this One-shot. I am happy that it resonated with you Richonners. So many demanded for answers and I felt compelled to try to provide some. So as a thank you, I did this update and have another one outlined to bring a 'measure' of closure. It's somewhat lengthy but I hope you guys enjoy!

* * *

 **HALO: 2**

 _'_ _Breathe Michonne. Breathe.'_

With a relentless stare, my eyes are bolted straight ahead to the other side of the hospital room. My concentration is solely on the oceanic picture hanging high up on the wall, as this 'Doctor' Richard Grimes, in his white lab coat and light blue scrubs, stands beside me.

With a tablet in his hand, he's rattling off some speech meant to encourage me, but only every other word registers in my brain. I am fighting like hell against my natural instincts to flee. I don't care about my legs. Screw my hundred and one stitches. I will drag myself out of this building if it meant I could get away from him and be free.

 _Nothing_ about this situation feels right. Am I losing my mind? Like an unsuspecting prey, I am trapped...

' _God! I am still trapped.'_

...This time in someone's sick web of trickery.

"Any unexpected event which threatens a person's life, undoubtedly disturbs you to your core…" the 'Doctor' continued, "...But not everyone reacts in the exact same way to a trauma. Do you understand?"

Although my gaze remains fixed away from his…

"I do." …My response is automatic.

"Okay good. Now while we got you here, we're gonna have our Resident psychiatrist, Dr. Cloyd, come see you regularly, alright? You'll like her, everyone does. So don't worry about a thing, we're gonna take good care of you. Make sure you're back on your feet and back in court in no time…"

From the corner of my eyes I catch him leaning towards me, his gaze burning into the side of my face.

"Mrs. Anthony? Hey. You okay?"

He rests his hand on top of mine when I don't answer, and immediately I flinch. I slice my gaze at him unable to control myself.

"No it's fine Mrs. Anthony…" Beth moves closer to my bed in the next second. My peculiar reaction doesn't go unnoticed. "You're safe."

The 'Doctor' nods his head to her reassurance, and withdraws his touch. "Is there something I can get for you?" he whispers. "Anything at all that you need?"

His steady tone of voice sounds so sincere. Still, I ball my fists and give a quick shake of my head.

 _'_ _Please just go.'_

"Okay then."

After leaving orders to get some more rest, both him and Nurse Greene stroll towards my door. However, as Beth exits, I watch 'Doctor' Grimes' as he hesitates. He turns, and throws his attention back at me, lingering in the doorway. His eyes tighten with a glare of confused curiosity.

 _'_ _Breathe Michonne. Breathe.'_

My mind is disoriented, worn out, and fractured. But I remain stoic. I don't give in… not until he leaves.

~0~0~0~0~

Three weeks – twenty-one agonizing days, and twenty-one tortuous nights – That's how long I've been 'required' to stay at Piedmont Hospital, due to the multiple injuries I sustained from the attack.

Day in and day out I've existed in a vacuum of despair. Although, the nurses and doctors, who are paid to take care of me, have been quite attentive. Their support and patient kindness have been invaluable to my rehabilitation, and I have tried my utmost to be appreciative and co-operative with them all. Well, all with the exception of _him_.

I don't know if I should feel ashamed about my disposition towards this man. But, quite frankly, Dr. Grimes' presence makes me question the reliability of my own sanity.

I have had no more 'visions' of any sort, since… well since I first woke up here. And I am both relieved, yet, mildly concerned by that fact.

God! All I want, is to just… go... home. I need to get up and leave, and get back to my life. To everything familiar to me.

The sooner I return to work, the sooner I will be alright. If I'm sitting behind my antique Victorian Walnut, flat top desk, resuming my practice, taking up my responsibilities, and immersing myself in my purpose… I will feel like myself again.

If I could go home to Andre, hold him close and breathe him in, as he falls asleep, his tiny body curled up snug within my arms...I'll have everything I need to conquer this cancerous dejection that's been eating up my insides.

This is the belief, the hope, I have held on to, while stuck in this limbo they call 'recovery.' For my body, yes. But with all this time on my hands, my soul dwells on the trauma, and the dwelling drains what little light the tragedy didn't take from me.

 _'_ _It is always darkest before dawn.'_

The popular, and seemingly profound phrase echoes in my mind, as I find myself in my wheelchair, positioned at my hospital room window staring, once again, out into the dense black sky. Wrapping my arms around myself, relief washes over me, observing how the morning light seeps in, softening the darkness into varying tints of blue.

Today, is supposed to be the _last_ day, before I finally get discharged. Yet, I get the distinct premonition, that for me, dawn is nowhere in sight.

There's a click at my door, and someone enters my room.

My head swivels to discover Nurse Greene.

She's not surprised in the least to find I am up at this hour. "Nightmares been keeping you company again?"

"The usual," I sigh. "Along with depression, anxiety, guilt… The usual folks hanging around, stealing my sleep." I shrug at my predicament. However, my nonchalant attitude does nothing to assuage the empathic concern clouding her features.

Nurse Elizabeth Greene: Sweet, homey, worships the ground her Daddy walks on. And as innocent as anyone can be in this world. I'm pretty sure that deep down she still believes in unicorns. One shot of Tequila and she'd fess up to the childish fantasy.

She goes through her routine of straightening up my bed. "It'll take some time, but it'll get better. You know that right?"

"Yeah." Tilting my head, I smile a little.

"You just gotta get back to your regular schedule. I know you want that. Keep up with your visits with Dr. Cloyd, and –"

"I'm not taking those pills," I realize too late how irritated I sound, how unlike a friend she herself has been to me.

Her eyes jerk towards mine. "I know that Michonne." She makes her way around to my side of the bed and sits right in front of me. "Was just gonna say… you need, to have patience with yourself. You may be a Rockstar around here, but you're still human." Her thin pink lips curve into a teasing grin.

"I'm sorry," Lifting my hand, I gently tap her knee. "Thank you. Speaking of keeping up with my regular schedule, could you hand me my files?"

Tara, my assistant, has been updating me on the progress of my high profile case now being handled by my boss, Gregory Stein, the DA himself. Scanning through the paperwork again, I see he's been holding back. Another continuance being requested. But why though? Probably doesn't want to get his hands dirty. Typical.

"Need anything else?" Beth asks.

"No I'm good."

"Okay. Well I'll be back in a bit with breakfast. Any special requests? You're entitled, seeing as how today is your last day with us."

"How about a real cup of coffee? A god-damn soy latte with cinnamon and three sugars."

"Oh come on now," she drawls, "You know dang well I can't do that."

I chuckle at her helpless stare accompanied by the chirpy pitch in her southern belle drawl. "No requests, Beth, but… feel free to surprise me."

"I'll see what I can rustle up. Oh… Let me warn you, Dr. Grimes, he's carded to see you for your final consultation before you go."

A menacing unease hardens my stomach, and I tug my mouth into a tight smile. "Sure."

~0~0~0~

After my morning ritual of breakfast and a bath, Beth helps me slip on a fresh hospital gown – white one, with blue snowflakes on it – In time for when Mike, my goodly husband, arrives.

Since I've been hospitalized, he's visited me every other day, sometimes with Andre in tow, but mostly not. His looks of empathy and his words of advice, all fall short because _none_ of it reaches me. Not really.

He's always toting gifts and flowers, though. I'll give it to the bastard, he sure knows how to put on a show, and today, is no different.

Once the pleasantries are out of the way and Beth moves on with her duties, leaving us by ourselves, he informs me about still seeking a divorce, but needs for us to keep it under wraps because of the optics, of course.

"Here… let me help you with that." He takes my cushion from off of my bed, and places it against the backrest of my wheelchair before drawing it close to me.

"Thanks I got it." However, I refuse to take his hand as I lift myself up off the bed, and ease across into the chair. I pull back my dreads and press in the puffiness around my eyes, readying myself to see my son. "Where is he?"

"Just outside with Mom. I'll bring him in, in a minute. Michonne, I wanted us to talk awhile first."

"You can have your divorce Mike. I won't put up a fight. You've kept me here long enough while you and your… girlfriend –"

"I've said this before," he cuts me off. "Terry's my assistant."

I roll my eyes and scoff. "Don't insult me Mike. Andre saw you. In our home, no less," I swallow hard noticing his ring is missing. What did he just say about optics? "I'm giving you your out, just don't lie to me."

Shoving his hands inside of the pockets of his grey slacks, he ambles towards the window. With his back turned to me, he stares for a while at the scene outside. What he says next makes my jaw plunge to the floor.

"I need a favor Michonne. This case against Councilman Richards…I need you to drop it. Make a deal."

The synapses in my brain snap into overdrive. "What? I-I can't do that!" I am desperate to make sense of this astounding request. "I won't! Why would you—"

"My Uncle out in Colombus… Let's just say, Richards, he's a friend of the family." His voice is so deadpan as if the conversation is a chore.

 _'Since when?'_ "He's a murderer!"

"No, there's no proof that it wasn't an accident."

"Yes there is." I watch him in horror. Who is this man? "Michael, look at me."

His body stiffens as he stubbornly refuses to meet my gaze. But I could make out the reflection of his beautiful large eyes in the tinted glass. There's no mistaking it. His gaze is heavy with shame.

"The world is filled with such ugliness…" I say. "Don't add to it."

"What does that mean?"

"What it means is you should be better, instead of pretending like you are Mike. Instead of settling for being less."

His head turns towards me. The muscles in his jaw twitch, as he looks at me confused, and maybe a little hurt. But I don't care. I love him – yeah I still love the sneaky bastard – But I won't go down with him. My son's father is no longer enough for me. Throughout our marriage he'd made it difficult to follow his lead because he refused to learn how. Always willing to take a backseat and abdicate responsibility for reasons I could never comprehend or dispute against. Okay, fine. But now he's asking _me_ to turn a blind eye to justice? As a bloody favor?

My face swells hot with anger and I grit my teeth wanting to scream.

"This could cost me my job." I gawk at him with disgust. "I am an officer of the court."

"But you're a mother first. Aren't you?" he shoots back.

"Excuse me?"

With two steps he's towering over me. "Andre will remain with me at my family's home."

 _'What_ – _the hell_ – _is going on?'_

"I think it's best for you, and for our son. To give you the space and time needed, to take care of yourself. And…" He grips me by my shoulders. "…To… reevaluate things."

It takes me another second to understand. This is a threat. He's using Andre to force me to concede.

My throat tightens. I grab one of his arms and I hold on tightly. "Don't do this." But he throws me off. "Mike please?"

"I've made arrangements for a personal assistant, and a round-the-clock nurse to be at your beck and call. Or…" He moves to the armchair in the right side corner of my room, tugging his pants legs up before he sits and levels his eyes with mine. "My mother, she's willing to come and stay with you, and help you out with Andre. But you _have_ to agree to what it is I'm asking of you. Will you consider it?"

I try to quash my panic, and not fall apart.

I nod my head slowly. "Yes," I whisper, "She could come stay with me."

Mike's already standing up knowing I am not in a position to put up much resistance. "Good." He smooths his yellow dress shirt, and trots back over to me.

I close my eyes and cringe over the conversations to be had, in not just the days, but in the years to come.

Patting my shoulder, he bends over to press his cold lips against my temple. "I'll go get you your son."

 **~0~0~0~0~**

 **Dr. Rick Grimes:**

The doctor - patient relationship is a thing of beauty. It's simple really, but intricate simultaneously. It's an essential yet fragile factor in my profession. Why? Because it is based on one of the most luxurious qualities any and every human may possess... it is based on trust. We all value it, treasure it, safeguard it with our very lives, and that is a fact. Vulnerability requires confidence, which in turn requires trust.

The act of trusting, in this modern world, is not one to be taken lightly. When someone places their confidence in you, and acknowledges their faith in your abilities to live up to the promises which you swore to, with your own mouth, you have no choice but to commit yourself. This is your duty.

In order to get through every second, of every day – in order to function – we need to allow ourselves to trust in others. And we need for them to trust in us.

We trust the powers that be, to send us clean water to live. We trust fellow motorists to obey the traffic laws so that we could all get to where we're going in one piece. We trust our bus drivers, our children's educators, and yes… our health care providers.

So… what the hell was wrong with this woman? I saved her life. Yet she barely looks at me.

I've shown empathy, respect, engaged in active listening – when I could get a damn word out of her mouth. In order to gain some perspective, I've even put aside my own biases to deal with Madame ADA, which by no means was easy... she _is_ Mike Anthony's wife after all, and that man, behind all that pomp and glamour, that man is a dirty scoundrel through and through. I regret ever getting involved with him. But I was desperate. And I was arrogant, so now I have to pay...

In any case, I have put aside my irritation with my patron to attend to his other half, and for one reason or the other, the woman refuses to have any faith in me. Demanding for a nurse to be present, at all times, when I come in to check up on her, and make sure her stitches are healing as they should.

Well, it's been three weeks. And she's finally patched up. So tomorrow morning she'll finally be gone.

Thank God and Amen… Hallelujah… Praise Baby Jesus.

Anyway, it doesn't matter, I just have to focus on the file and get through this final consultation. I'm surprised she hasn't made a peep about me being here alone with her today…

"Now you've already met with a physiotherapist right?" I ask, not really expecting a response. "Doctor Sasha Williams? Well in a few weeks more…" I point to her casts, which I glance at, noticing she's gotten some fresh drawings on them from her visit today. "…those bad boys should be coming off. And Doctor Williams could start you on your therapy right away. That okay with you?"

As per usual, she doesn't answer. I sigh, "Okay. Umm..." Swiping across the screen on my device, I push through. "Doctor Cloyd, now her recommendation is that you need to join group counseling for victims of trauma. Said it'll make you feel better… Help you to cope… I don't know what you'd think about that–pouring out your feelings in a room full of strangers –"

"Yeah that's not happening."

Her dispirited voice wrenches something in me, and my eyes jolt towards hers for the first time, since I've walked into her room.

 _'Shit.'_

As I peer at her, I don't miss it–The deep sadness, betrayed by her sunken almond-shaped eyes. She looks so tired, broken, and lost, as she stares behind me at the door. Analyzing her demeanor I start to think twice about letting her go home.

"Hey," I dip my head and smile to catch her attention. "Today is your last day. You'll be with them tomorrow."

I'm surprised, but not surprised, as her eyes pool with water, and her bottom lip trembles.

"Hey... If there is anything you have to remember, is that your ordeal is most likely to continue to have some adverse consequences, Mrs. Anthony," I try to sympathize. "I'm not gonna lie to you, but your traumatic experience _has_ changed you. But you will get through this...you're a fighter. Some days will be easier than others."

This is the ADA with a rep for being fierce, and undaunted, part of the influential Anthony clan. This woman has been one of the most reticent patients I have ever had to treat.

"Your determination to recover has sped up your healing process so I know you'll be alright." I nod my head back towards the door. "Mike… that man loves you. He wants to take care of you. You won't have to do it alone."

All of a sudden, her impenetrable façade completely slips away. "I am alone," she blurts out.

In one swift movement, I am on my knees, stunning both her and myself. "How can you say that?" I question, taking the liberty to grasp her hand in mine.

Her body jerks as pure shock registers across her face. "Be-Because…" she stutters, "My husband is leaving me. And he wants to take my baby. I, I... I'm going home to an empty house."

Like I said…

 _'Dirty Scoundrel.'_

Back on my feet, I slip my device into my coat pocket as I move behind her. My hands grab a hold of the handles on her chair and I push her forward towards the door.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Her body twists and she stares up at me.

"I'm taking you outside. You need some fresh air… " I pause in the open doorway, "You don't have a problem with that, do you?"

She dries her face and shakes her head. "No… we could go."

I escort her through the hallways making our way down to the ground floor.

"You know if things aren't right at home," I say, as we emerge from the elevator, "I can recommend for you to stay here, with us, a little longer."

"No thanks," she shoots back without missing a beat. "I miss my tank tops, and Egyptian cotton sheets."

I chuckle. "Well, get a friend to come over then. It's best if you're not alone."

"Not so simple as that Doctor Grimes..." she sighs. "Listen, you need to forget what it is I said. I'm fine."

I don't believe her. But I don't push it either.

"But, thank you."

"No. Don't mention it."

It isn't long before I am sitting outside on a bench, along the curved concrete walkway, located to the left of the building. Across from my view is a beautiful sage garden that's thriving in the Georgia heat. Mrs. Anthony's chair is positioned sideways, in front of me, just to my right.

"May I confess something to ya?" I remove my stethoscope from around my neck and place the implement on the bench beside me.

"Okay." With her hands folded in her lap, she keeps her head low, and the sun catches the gold highlights in her brown shoulder-length locs.

"I know you don't like me. I know it. And perhaps, that's somewhat my fault." Perhaps she sensed my prejudice from day one, and my god-dammed arrogant pride wouldn't let me see her distrust for what it really is: Fear. It's only logical, after everything she's been through.

She glances back at me. "No."

Under the clear sky, the glare of the bright sunny day forces me to squint up at her. "No? Well, it's something." I hold her stare for as long as she'll let me, but her gaze drops towards my clasped hands.

"Something," she whispers.

I wait for her to elaborate, but she doesn't. Instead, I watch as she cast her attentions towards the vibrant green shrubbery further down the pathway, preferring to sit there without saying anything more. And I let her. I mean I have to. Where we are is quiet, peaceful and breezy — Perfect for a moment or two of undisturbed reflection, and contemplation. Just what my patient needs. Despite my medical knowledge, or my years of experience, I don't pretend to know what exactly is going on inside of her head.

"My hus— Mike," she says after a while, her eyes still fixed in the distance. "Mentioned you're the chairman of one of the charities he's contributed to."

"Yeah…I am. The Judith Grimes foundation."

"So… at some point, we've met before?"

"Briefly."

She cups the side of her face and her brows furrow as her mouth turns grim. "I don't, remember." Her tone is strangely frustrated.

"Well now I'm hurt by that," I joke, "But I'm not surprised you don't."

"You're not? How come?"

"Well, for one thing, the night we met, was at a fundraiser Mike hosted for my foundation. And you, you were...distracted." I rub my bearded chin as the memory floats back to me. "It was the last trimester of your pregnancy, and it had you extremely agitated, for lack of a better word. Kept complaining about this and that. About it being the third 'shitty' event you'd been to for the week. You didn't want to be there. But… "

"But Mike made me come?"

"Yeah. Sound familiar?"

Her spine slumps a bit and she closes her eyes slowly. I notice her breaths deepening as a pained expression tightens her face. "Oh…" she's remembering. "I…I was pissy to you."

"Yes," I laugh quietly, as her glance flickered open to catch mine. "Yes you were. But don't feel bad 'bout it. You reminded me of my wife when she was at the end of her own pregnancies, so I paid you no mind. I understood the amount of discomfort you were in. Even told Mike it was best to just take you home. Told him to go crank up the AC and give you all the pillows, and Coconut ice cream, and chocolate bars you wanted. Still don't remember, do you?"

"No, I mean... yes, I do. It's vague but… I think I remember the ill-fitting Dolce and Gabbana dress, he got for me."

Her unpredicted response makes me grin again. "Ill fitting you say? I don't recall it being that bad."

Her eyes widen as though I made the most outlandish statement. "I looked like I was dressed in my grandmother's drapes. It was extremely awful, and everyone knew it."

"Nah," I maintained. "You pulled it off with elegance."

"Mmhm. Yeah I don't think so… Anyway, I remember Mike's incessant pleas with me to attend that night. For support… for the photos," she sighed. "And… I think… I think, I went into labor, the very next day." Her brows raised as realization crossed her features.

"Yeah, you did."

She shoots me an inquisitive look, and I clear my throat. "It was in the uh, the papers, made the local news."

"Okay. Well... I guess I'm sorry about my behavior… how I treated you then… and now."

I frown for a moment with slight confusion. "No you don't have to be. I'm the one who's sorry." I'm tempted to reach out with a touch of empathy, but I hold back knowing better.

She cast an appraising glance back to the garden. "Beth, she brought me out here a couple of times, but was too busy to stay long. It's nice."

"It is. So take all the time you need."

"You sure?"

I nod. "They'll page me if they need me. Besides, been meaning to start working on my tan. No time like the present." I say, steaming in my long sleeves. But when she tries to hide her smile from me, I know without a doubt my mild discomfort is worth it.

"Just let me know when you're ready," I shift her chair, for her to get a better view. "I'll take you back to your room so you could get some more rest. Tomorrow, I'll come see you before you leave… If… uh… If that's alright with you?"

She shrugs her shoulders probably wondering _'Why?'_ But for me I feel it's the least I could do. Tilting my head, I see the hesitancy in her eyes. "Is it alright with you?" I ask again.

Sucking in her lips she at last responds to my request, her voice no louder than a whisper. "It is."

 **~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~**

 **Michonne:**

After Doctor Grimes returns me to my room, the rest of my day is uneventful. Thank God. I don't know how much more drama I can take.

Once the initial shock of Mike's despicable treatment wears off, I spend my time conjuring up plans to take the bastard on. As though I haven't been through enough.  
Having the snake arrested for obstruction of justice however, would prove to be futile. His family's lawyers would have him back out in a minute, with a 30 second phone call.  
Whatever it is, that's going on with Mike, and Richards, and his Uncle, I'll have to discreetly find out.

My husband caught me off guard, but I won't allow him to take advantage of me because he thinks that I am weak. I will always be ruthless when it comes to my child. I won't crawl in to a corner and give up. I have to salvage what's left of my life.

So lost in my tumultuous thoughts I don't realize when I have fallen asleep.

Not until, I hear my name being called repeatedly.

"Michonne! Michonne!"

Actually, not called, but shouted. Is something wrong? I am not in some dream, yet, I am aware I am not fully awake either. In a rush, I rouse myself and I gasp as my eyes fly open."Yeah."

My heart is racing and I am out of breath, as though I sprinted a half a mile to get back to my darkened room. How long was I asleep for?

"Don't be scared. It's just me."

Startled by the deep voice, I jump up and reach across to switch on my bedside light. With heavy breaths I stare confused at the familiar figure casually leaning against my window. I thought he said he'll see me tomorrow?

"Doctor Grimes? Is everything alright?" I ask, blinking away my blurry vision.

No longer in scrubs, but in a dress shirt and jeans, he tilts his head from side to side, his arms folded across his chest "We're getting there. You okay?"

"Yeah," I push myself further up into a sitting position. Why is this man lurking in my room? "Is there something you have to tell me?" I hope he's not making me stay longer. The thought alone makes my stomach clench.

He steps out from the shadowed corner of the room. "Remember when we last spoke I told you I needed you to agree to something?" Rubbing the side of his bearded face, he strolls towards my bedside. And I lift my gaze to peer into his.

"Today? I don't think so Doctor Gri —"

"I'm not… Doctor Grimes," he interjects.

As the words slip off of his tongue an eerie tingle exchanges between us causing me to shiver. "Excuse me?"

"From the way you're gaping at me, think you heard what is I said. I'm not, Doctor, Grimes." Moving his hands to his hips he flashes me that stupid grin. "Although, I am glad that you've finally given him a chance. Took you long enough. I've been waiting Michonne. Like I told you the last time, he's an important man."

My heart stutters. "No…" I shake my head, "…No… Go away!" Why is he here? I thought I got over this?

"I said not to be scared. It's me."

"I'm not scared..." I swallow hard. "There's nothing to be scared about, because you don't exist. Not then and not now."

"Yes Michonne, I do exist. It was me, down there, with you."

"I was hallucinating. _No one_ was there. Every damned day I've played that conversation over and over, and I realized…it was all in my head! You simply regurgitated everything I already knew. But I-I… I learned nothing new about you. Which firehouse you were with, if you had a family of your own, middle name…nothing. We talked and talked and I learned nothing!"

I press my fingertips between my brows and squeeze my eyes shut. I'm having another nightmare.

"What about there being two car bombs?" he says.

My shoulders shrug. "It's a big school, powers of deduction."

"It's a huge school. So why not three or four?"

"It's usually two."

"And Titus, told you 'bout him... "

"Go, away!"

Instead, this defiant vision comes and sits at the foot of my bed. "No."

"Seriously?"

"Tell me, first, why then. Why was I there?"

I am not having this conversation. I am lucid and have all my faculties. I will not continue to fight with myself. So I slide down into my bed and turn my back to lay on my side.

"Hey… hey. What is this?" He taps me on my leg like a nagging child. "You giving me the silent treatment?" He goes quiet for a few moments, and then I hear him sigh. "Hey, I need you to talk to me. C'mon Michonne. Tell me why was I there?"

Annoyed, I cave in. "Because I was scared, of course," But I keep my back towards him. "…I was terrified actually, and alone. Felt myself dying so my mind needed something to hold on to. I needed hope to survive. So I made you up." I turn and face my delusion, confident in my conclusions. "A perfectly normal psychological response, to an abnormal event. My anxiety, my fear. _You_ were only in my mind."

"So you were listening to the good ole doctor huh?" He rises off the bed and positions himself right before me. "Well, Michonne… tell me, why am I here now?"

I shake my head and clutch my blanket trying to formulate an answer. "I… I don't know. Fear, again, maybe. I'm scared of facing my empty home? I… I'm not sure."

I drop my gaze from his unwavering eyes.

 _'And maybe because, I'm sad.'_

With my silent admission I bite my lip to hold back the torrent threatening to flow out of me.

"We talked about desire, remember?" He traces his finger along the bridge of my nose and I slap his hand away.

"That wasn't real. This isn't real. I have the stitches to prove it."

He releases a heavy breath. "Why won't you just believe in me?"

"Are you serious?"

"Fine Michonne... let's just see okay?" Next thing I know he reaches over and grabs my call button. "You sure are stubborn I give you that. Gonna make me do it?"

In boldness I narrow my eyes at the figment of my imagination. "Do it."

Calling my bluff he presses the button and...

Ha! Nothing! No one responds.

I'm surprised at how relieved I am when his smirk falls away.

Puzzlement draws his brows inward as he studies the contraption, tapping the side of it as though the device has a problem and there's a malfunction. "Wait wait, hold on you gotta give it a second now."

Drumming my fingers against my hospital wristband I chuckle at the silliness of this dream, or vision, or whatever the hell it is. "Alright, no, this was good. I'm amused…"

"Oh shut it," he pouts.

Folding my arms I watch as he tries one more time, a bit more forceful. But again, no one comes through my door.

 _'I knew it.'_

"Okay Lieutenant, clearly there's something wrong with me...they must have missed something," I gather my hair to the side and, using all ten fingers, make a quick search for bumps along my scalp. "I'll request another MRI in the morning, don't want to go home and drop down from a seizure–"

Then it happens…

"Oh Mrs. Anthony, I am so sorry."

...A nurse enters my room.

"...Dr. Grimes? I, I did hear the buzzer but I..."

"That's okay Nurse Niedermyer. Just happy you responded."

 _'God dammit!'_

The grin on his smug face is so huge I just want to grab him by his collar and slap him. "Our patient here, she's thirsty. Do you mind Ma'am?"

"No, no, of course not. You like some water dear?"

I am flabbergasted and all speech evades me.

"Grapefruit juice, please Nurse," he responds for me. "That's been her favorite since she's been a child, spending summers with her favorite aunt and uncle in Trinidad." The s.o.b. winks at me. "Isn't that right?"

He was right. "Grapefruit's my favorite," I manage to whisper, cowering in my bed.

Nurse Niedermayer flashes a sweet smile. "No problem. Oh Doc. I could've sworn I saw you leave an hour ago. You were wearing that awful salmon shirt. This blue looks a whole lot better. Brings out your eyes like I always say."

Is this woman flirting with him?

"Thanks. I always get that." He tosses me a look of victory. This son of a bitch is enjoying himself.

As the nurse runs on her errand, he closes the door behind her and turns the lock. "Now can we talk? Before she gets back?"

Oh God I need to get up. I need to get out of here. But how? Throw myself on to the floor? Calling for help, won't do me any good. They'll think I'm crazy, and I'll never get to leave this hospital.  
What's his plan here anyway? The nurse is coming back, isn't she? Not if she gets paged or worse Michonne, drawn into a conversation about… god, about anything! So I am on my own, and I have no clue what's going to happen to me.

Regardless, my eyes dart around the room and my fingers fumble for something, anything, to defend myself from this...this...

"What are you?" He's not Dr. Grimes, and he sure as shit is no Lieutenant. So who is he? What is he? He's real but he's… different. Not like anything or anyone I've ever encountered before.  
Okay, okay... I need to stay calm. Stay calm Michonne. Breathe. Don't panic. Be smart. And think clearly...Grab the lamp and smash it on the side of his head.

Shit! He's sitting on the bed, right in front of me.

"You okay?" His hands reach around my arms, he draws me forward, and I let him. "I won't hurt you."

And I swear… Oh god! There's a blaze in his eyes.  
My body limps and my pounding heart wants to force its way out of my bloody chest. I need to get a hold of myself. But I-I can't. I'm too afraid.  
I need to get out! I need to get out of this room. Right. Now.

 _'Scream Michonne. Scream!_

"Ssh! Don't, don't scream," he whispers. "Please?"

W-wait… Wait a minute. I think, I think I missed something…

"If you do that, if you scream, " he says, "I can't have my talk with you. And what I have to say is important."

His lips…

"And I've been waiting to visit you."

...Why? Why aren't his lips moving?

"Don't shut me out. Keep this up now you're gonna blackout Mrs. Anthony."

Okay no… No, no, his mouth is still closed. But I know I can hear him, distinctly. He _is_ talking to me. He's-he's…

"Yeah..." he drawls. " _This_ is what it would be like if I were inside your head."

 _'Son of a...'_

My blood chills. In an instant, I summon the strength to shove him off of my bed, and I scramble for the emergency button.

"Wait!"

A sharp pain strikes me in my temple, and my eyes squeeze shut. Something's happening. What's happening?

"Dammit Michonne" he cried out. "Hold on."

…and darkness engulfs me.  
~0~0~0~0~


	3. Chapter 3

**HALO: 3**

When I open my eyes, for a few hazy seconds, I stare up at the grid of my ceiling. My damp gown sticks to my skin, and my lungs gasp for air, as I ball my fists to stop my hands from shaking. What the hell just happened? Did I have another nightmare? Or was _he_ really here? Did he enter into my mind, breach my thoughts, and cause me to lose consciousness?

As I try to collect myself, my door clicks. Nurse Niedermeyer appears in my room and switches on the overhead lights.

"Sorry about the wait sweetheart. Got a bit sidetracked," she says, oblivious to my confused state. "But here's your juice, I hope this will do."

"What?" My mind feels cloudy, but I push myself up, and accept the cup she hands me.

"Your Grapefruit juice."

Wait. I glimpse between her and the drink, and my heart flips as the alarming sequence of events replay in my head.

The nurse adjusts the pillow behind my back and makes a quick check of my vitals monitor. "So the doctor left, finally. Such a workaholic. You need anything else?"

My brows rise at her offer. And for a panicked moment, I am tempted to beg her not to leave.

"No. Thank you," I whisper.

"If you do dear, you know how to get me." The nurse nods and flicked the main lights off before she shuffles away.

Setting the cup aside next to the lamp, I breathe in as much courage as I can muster, and I… I call out to my visitor. "I know you're still here…" With a soft quiver in my voice, my eyes hunt for him around the faintly lit room. Although I see no one lurking, every cell in my body tells me he's near… I don't understand how that has become possible, but someone's watching. I can sense it.

"Don't hide. Show yourself. Let me see you." If he's determined to talk, I might as well face him and get this confrontation over with.

"How do you feel?"

My body jerks, and my eyes widen, as the sound of his voice floats towards me. My pulse is racing dammit, but I ignore the sickening chill pinching my flesh, and the stiffness of my muscles straightening my spine.

"Your head…"

"I'm fine." My neck swivels trying to pinpoint his exact location. Where is he?

"…Listen I didn't mean for you to get hurt or to scare you like I did. I'm sorry for that."

"C-come out. Let me see you."

"Now I can't do that, not unless you promise me you won't scream."

 _'_ _Be brave, Michonne.'_ I encourage myself. _'If he wanted to hurt you, in your vulnerable state he could've done so a hundred times over, especially.'_ "I won't. I won't scream."

Within the next few seconds, my vision ripples to a faint shadow, flickers to a silver light, and materializes into him. My heart leaps into my parched throat and my stomach roils as Lieutenant Grimes, out of bloody thin air, stands before me. His gaze though, holds such sorrowful concern I am compelled to utter, "I'm okay." For both his sake, and mine... not particularly sure why. Actually, I'm not sure about anything at this stage, except, I am certain I have lost my mind.

"What are you?" My voice comes out stronger, but how I managed to speak those words are beyond me. _'Be brave, Michonne.'_

"What's important is why I am here."

I roll my eyes at his cryptic vagueness. "What _are_ you?"

He inches closer and looms over me. "Well how about you just think of me as a… a messenger."

"So you have a message for me?"

"I do. According to my instructions."

"Making me lose consciousness, that part of your instructions?"

His shoulders drop and his brows furrow as his mouth turns grim. "Of course not. And I apologized. Got carried away..."

"Don't do it again…" I peer at him with anxious eyes. "Please? Stay out of my head."

He nods. "Rule number one." His expression softens into a small smile, but it's not enough for me to calm down.

"Out of all the millions of people out there, why have you been instructed to bother with me?" Why am I so special?

"Those people out there need your help, Michonne. Maybe not millions but...1 out of 40,000 Americans, is a start to be exact."

"I don't know what that number means."

"That's the number of children being treated with the assistance of the Judith Grimes foundation."

I bite my lower lip. Why does that sound familiar? "Dr. Grimes foundation?" What does that have to do with me? I hardly know anything concerning his charity outside of what little Mike told me.

"He's about to lose it and that can't happen. If it does, it will break him, and too many people are gonna be dependent on him. Dr. Grimes needs this charity to work. Right now, in his mind, dedicating his life to this research is his purpose."

"And you want me to help him? How?" Does he need legal representation? Or does he need me to write a check? Unfortunately, I am not in the capacity to provide either way. Besides, I don't even know this man. If this charity is so sacred to him, why would he allow me, far less trust me to involve myself in his business?

With a tilt of his head, he scrutinizes the puzzlement contorting my features, probably tempted to break rule number one. Son-of-a-bitch. If he does, I will scream like hell.

"Your goodness, your talent, your strength…" he says instead, "These are gifts you possess and you ought to use them wisely."

 _'_ _I appreciate the uh... kind words, but…'_ "He can seek advice from any lawyer, from the entire state of Georgia. There's— "

"No." His voice intensifies, and his hands grip my shoulders. "It has to be you. He needs, you. You're the key."

It _has_ to be me? _I'm_ the key? Is he serious? Am I supposed to believe in fate? Sorry to burst his bubble but he surely picked the wrong woman, at the wrong time. I shrug him off. "I really don't think it's that simple. I believe in free will—You know, freedom to choose between one path or another?"

"Yes, and you also have a conscience—You know… that inner sense of right and wrong? That innate ability wired inside every single person meant to guide and unite people in doing good?"

"What's good, Lieutenant, is relative these days. Or are you not aware of the world we live in?"

"Oh I'm well aware. That's why I'm here Michonne, for you. You're one of the good guys and so is he."

I shake my head exasperated. "I have so much on my plate right now. You must see that."

"I do."

"But you still want me to make myself available? That's what we, in the legal field, call coercion."

He chuckles. "No… this ain't a threat. This is me, asking you, to acknowledge the bigger picture here, because there is, a bigger picture… whether you like it, or not. Just listen to your conscience."

 _'_ _For a surgeon's charity?'_ I find it difficult to believe and to accept that my sanity is being pushed and tested for Doctor Richard Grimes and his so-called purpose and importance.

The Lieutenant lightly takes a hold of my hands. I stare at them as the memory of their warm comfort comes flooding back. "Won't you consider my request?" he asks. "Or is it… is it something else?"

Surely this being could have me help another person for whom I could be more sympathetic. Or better yet, have a different lawyer provide the aid Doctor Grimes needs altogether. But not me!

"Come on now, talk to me." He rubs his thumbs over my knuckles in a cajoling manner.

"I am losing my family Rick!" My eyes squeeze shut as my insecurities seize me. "I cannot fight on two fronts alone."

"Alone? No you're not alone. Who said anything about doing this alone?" Releasing my hands, he promptly lifts my legs shifting them to the side, and to my surprise, climbs into bed with me.

Even more astonishing is the lack of fear I feel. But a moment later I simply don't give a shit anymore. I'm too tired. So I automatically ease back as his arm wraps around my shoulder, and an inviting sense of security seeps through my body at his touch.

"Remember what I said back there, in the rubble?" His other hand brushes the side of my face. "You are so strong. You're a survivor."

"No," I mumble.

"Yes, yes you are. I believe that. I believe in you. You're going through a storm right now I can't argue about that. But if you take on this battle, trust me, you won't be alone. You're gonna get the extra strength that you need."

I nod. "You're gonna help me?"

He smiles and shakes his head. "No… not me, him. The two of you, you're gonna fight the fight together. So do as I tell you to do. Let him in. I guarantee you, it'll be worth it. Okay?"

What fight? I still don't understand. I have to learn more. But at this point, I think this is all I'm going to get. "Okay."

~0~0~0~0~

~0~0~0~0~

Right after my casts came off, I started physical therapy twice a week for the first two weeks to improve my 'flexibility and mobility,' without causing further damage. By the third week my doctors cleared me and I returned to my office limping with the aid of crutches.

"Alright girl, you got this. Give me two more reps, on both legs," instructs Doctor Sasha Williams, my physical therapist, who, despite being in her twenties, is methodical and objective like an old sage.

Right at this moment I am standing on what she calls a 'wobble board' working on my balance. With one foot planted, the other bent at the knee, heel raised; I center my weight whilst gripping the back of a chair for support.

"You need to get the board as close to the floor as possible." Holding her hand behind her back, she hovers next to me as I rotate my foot inward and outward, inward and outward. "I know it's painful—"

"No…" More like yes. But I grit my teeth and push through… I can do it. "Determination & Strength: combined, a person can achieve just about anything." Those recited words of hers have become embedded in my brain.

"My life's motto." Self-assured, driven, and regimented like an army sergeant, she grins at me with approval. I like her.

"Hey." Her attention refocuses across the room to someone else entering the gym. "Fancy seeing you again so soon. Third week in a row, Doctor."

"Well I made a promise." My eyes flick up to see Doctor Grimes strolling over to me. "Hey."

"Hey." Stepping off my workout tool, I reach to my right and grab my towel hanging off the railing of the ramp, to wipe my sweaty face.

"Sasha, I don't think it's a crime to check in on a patient. Matter of fact it's called a follow-up," he teases.

"Hm, she's not your patient anymore Doctor Grimes." She holds out her hand as I lower myself to a mat on the floor. "And Michonne didn't damage her spine, _just_ her fibulas."

Exhausted, I lay straight back clutching my towel to my chest. " _Just_ you say?"

Sasha retrieves and lays my crutches alongside the mat. "Yes just…could've been way worst."

"Sasha's absolutely right about that." Doctor Grimes stoops next to me. "How are you?"

"I'm doing pretty good."

He laughs as his gaze slides over my body before meeting my eyes again. "You on the wobble board already? Sure you up for that? Don't think you're pushing yourself too hard?"

I shake my head. "Up to six reps this week. I don't have a choice Rick. My son needs me. I have work to do."

"You're right, you don't have a choice. You got work to do." He angles his head to the side assessing me. "That's fantastic."

I smile back. "Thanks. Anyway, what about you? The Chief of General Surgery is off the clock?" I ask, sitting up to grab to my duffel bag.

He pulls back his jacket sleeve and glances at his silver wristwatch. "I am. Thought I'd stop by."

"For a follow up?"

"Yeah… and coffee. You up for that?"

"Oh I'm always up for a cup of coffee." Glancing around I notice Sasha dipping back in, returning from her office. She probably went to fill out my report for my next appointment.

As I bid her goodbye she reminds me not to neglect my home exercises, and congratulates me on the progress I've made. I should make a full recovery sooner, rather than later.

Not long after, Doctor Grimes and I leave, finding ourselves in the café across the street.

"How is it? Rick asks, as he manages to secure two window seats just as they'd become available.

"The coffee? It's good." I'm impressed at how merely two workers servicing a full house, got my order right. With both hands I cradle the cup and take a slow, steady sip, allowing the aroma and heat to soothe me.

"No," He gives his head a slight shake as he stirs two sugar packets in his black coffee. "…being back out at work?"

"Oh, well, after eight weeks cooped up, first in the hospital and then at home, I needed to get back. I feel… liberated," A soft chuckle escapes my lips, followed by a scarcely hidden frown.

His eyes narrow appraising my expression. "What? What's that look?"

"Of course, there were some, challenges."

"Nothing you couldn't handle I'm sure."

"Yeah." I suck in my lips as uncertainty runs through me, preferring to indulge my drink without adding anything further.

'Challenges' was putting it lightly. Other than getting back into the swing of things, this whole issue with Richards was hanging over my head like a booby trap. I had Tara hire a private investigator to dig up some info on Mike's Uncle, Craig T. Anthony, the last of the Anthonys, up in Columbus. Owner of a Pharmaceutical company for the past 20 years, divorced twice with three children, his second ex-wife a silent partner for the past 4 years. Everything I knew already. But nothing relevant linking him to Councilman Richards. There has to be something though … someone's doing a favor for someone.

Nevertheless, I bought myself some time where Andre's concerned. I have him home with me without my mother-in-law present. Thanks to Jackie, an old friend in family law.

With regards to the case, I told Mike I requested to be taken off for the balance of the proceedings, and it was the best that I could do. They can't force me to settle if it's out of my hands. However, what I didn't tell him was that Gregory Stein, the DA, didn't want to hear it. It's too public of an indictment.

Richards shot and killed his wife in cold blood when she tried to leave him. Moreover, he took a shot at his step-son as well when the young man lunged at him. Luckily for the twenty year old, his step-father missed. An easy murder one and attempted murder conviction. Minimum sentence: Life in prison. The DA's office wants this win. I can't just let it go. I can only hold them off for so long.

If I negotiate, down to voluntary manslaughter, Richards won't be held fully accountable for his crime. He'll get jail time of just ten years and eligible for parole in four. But Stein has a reputation to maintain, so he doesn't want to hear about a plea bargain.

For the moment, my hands are tied.

I pull my plate close with my complimentary pastry, feeling weighed down by my dilemma.

Rick taps the table to draw me out of my thoughts. "You wanna talk about it?"

"No," I sigh, ungluing my gaze from my blueberry mini scone. "Like I said, it hasn't been easy."

He nods his understanding. "Picking up where you left off, after so long, could be rough. I get that. Been there."

"You have?" I break a tiny piece off my gluten-free dessert and stick it into my mouth.

"Yeah… took some time off myself some years back, not that I wanted to, but, like you, I needed to."

"Why? You got hurt?"

"Not in a physical sense, no. Though it felt like my heart got ripped right out of my chest."

For a second, I survey his gaze, wondering if he intends to share more of his story.

Rick clears his throat. "This was when… my daughter, Judith, died."

"Oh..." I knew he lost his second child, but seeing the pain flash across his face, let me know the wound was still fresh for him. I can't imagine what it's like to hurt like that. What would become of me if Andre died? How would I survive? "I'm sorry about that. How long before… before it happened?"

"Only three months and eleven days, after she'd been born. Hardest time for my family. Drove my wife and me apart. Heartbroken, she couldn't handle her grief."

"Was starting the foundation your way of handling yours?"

He nodded. "I needed to do something. Especially when I found out how many other families were going through the exact same experience. Feeling hopeless. I couldn't just stand by. That wasn't good enough for me."

"Your foundation is quite impressive."

He takes a gulp from his cup and licks his lips. "You spoke to your husband about it?"

"No. Did my own research. Established five years ago, by you and a board of five others, for children suffering from the extremely rare and fatal Rosce disease. Why did you decide to take on such a formidable illness? You're nowhere near a cure."

"Doesn't mean we can't fight until we do. When my daughter was diagnosed with it, my wife and I, we felt so helpless. We were both doctors and still, there wasn't anything we could do about it. Hardly any in depth research, no clinical trials just..."

"The research, it's expensive."

"It is." At first Rick shoots me a skeptical glance, but then his brow slants in strong disapproval. Slowly, he rests his cup back down on to the table. "You have a question in there, Madame ADA?"

The sudden sharpness in his tone makes me look at him half confused, and half apologetic. "Would it be okay if I write a check?" I ask, softening my voice with caution.

"Naw…I don't think so." He leans back in his chair resisting my offer with distinct suspicion. But…

"Why not? I'd like to help."

"Because it's not… appropriate."

I shake my head at this man and scoff. He must either be concerned about me being his ex-patient, or, or something else. I, for the life of me can't imagine exactly what. Not appropriate?

"You got a problem with that?" he asks.

"No, I don't have a problem Rick. But you obviously have one. I just, don't understand why. "

"You have no idea about your husband do you?" He nods at my wedding ring.

Mike? W-what? I don't know if I should feel offended, but, given my husband's recent grand revealing of his true nature… I hold my tongue. "Seems I have a lot to learn," I confess. "Think you can enlighten me?"

"It's not my place."

"But this… us… we're friends now, right? Look I'm only asking because I'm showing a little interest. Didn't realize it was a sore spot. I mean, how could I?"

He releases a heavy breath and kneads the back of his neck. "You're right when you said that the research for Rosce disease is expensive. The doctors, counselors, marketing to attract donors, the experimental drugs – We got a hefty bill on our hands, and there aren't many of us out there." Drawing forward, he clasps his hands on the table and squints at me. "Now as of recent, our biggest contributor, the one who keeps the lights on, have threatened to pull their funding, knowing full well that that would be the end of my foundation. But, I got a funny feeling you already were aware of this."

"I didn't. Well, not all of it. You know, I could help. This donor, maybe we could set up a meeting, let me make a petition for you. Or if not…if you'd prefer, I could go to Mike, convince him to swing some more of his resources your way, link with his other friends. He's got a million of them."

His jaw clenches. "Michonne." He doesn't say anything else because he doesn't need to. He sees my comprehension come into place.

I am shocked and appalled, and for a moment I doubt what his unsaid words are insinuating. "Mike? He's the one pulling out?" Perplexed my hand presses against my temple. "But why?"

He shrugs his shoulder. "Beats me."

Okay, that's a lie. I don't know this man very well, but I'm in the business of detecting liars.

Now it's my turn to lean back and analyze him.

His glance flickers outside the window. "I don't think you should concern yourself about any of this," he sighs. "You've already got enough on your plate."

God, if he only knew how his words expressed my exact sentiments. But I made a promise, one I can't tell him about.

"Regardless, you should let me help. I could handle it."

"No, you can't. You just said it yourself – things haven't been easy for you." Looking back at me, both his arms now move to the edge of the little round table, as though he's trying to keep it steady.

"So you're shutting my offer down out of concern for me? Or…"

 _'Or you're hiding something.'_

"What about the families who benefit from this? You're just gonna let them down?" I argue with him like a witness on a stand.

"Michonne…listen."

"You're gonna give up?"

"Michonne."

"I find that hard to believe Grimes. Everything you've worked for, it's all going to come to nothing because of him? Because of Mike?"

"Michonne stop."

I plunge my gaze to the table where his hand clutches mine.

"Stop talking and listen to me. This is none of your concern—"

"Well technically—" I wince as he squeezes me.

"Stop." His cool stare drills into me and I forget to exhale. "This, is, not, your fight. So let it go."

My phone vibrates in my jacket pocket and I am so grateful to be able to pull away from him. "Okay. I hear you. I'll let it go."

~0~0~0~0~0~

By the time I arrive home to my high-rise building, speculation concerning Doctor Grimes and his flat-out rejection continue to rattle me. Hopping out of the elevator, I catch sight of my apartment and sigh in relief.

 _Andre_. My son's squeaky voice, his toothy smile, and his sugary smell, all beckon me. But, unfortunately, I must quash my longing for him, for he is not home, but with his father for the weekend. A temporary parenting agreement, stipulated by Jackie.

 _'God this is unbelievable.'_

My new reality seems so unreal. Too much has changed and my world is barely recognizable anymore.

Speaking of unreal… Entering my apartment, I am greeted by a newly familiar sight. The Lieutenant is here, and he's sitting on my couch, watching the news whilst stuffing his face with my food again!

"You know, for someone who doesn't need to eat to live, I constantly find you devouring my plantain chips." I place my crutches next to my armchair and wobble over to the sofa.

"Mat said welcome," he shrugs, "Besides, these are so good. And the sodium content is, in no way, good for your healing process."

He inquires if the Doctor came by.

"Yes… and we talked."

"Just talked?" Raising his arm he taps on his silver wristwatch and narrows his eyes at me. "Supposed to be home an hour ago."

I swing my backpack off, and plop down next to him. "You keeping tabs on me?"

He grunts.

"Lieutenant, you wanted me to hear his story," I grab the snack bag and dip my hand in to take out a piece of a chip and nibble on it. "…and that's what I've been doing. We talked but…"

"But what?"

"But he practically ordered me to let it go."

He snatches away the bag. "You can't let it go."

"He doesn't want my help." I say, yanking it back.

"How hard did you try to convince him Michonne?" Seizing my wrist with one hand, the Lieutenant shoves the other inside of the pack to grab a fistful of chips.

I watch him in disbelief and pull away from his grip. "Hard e-damn-nough!"

"No."

"No?" My eyes narrow at him as he fills his mouth.

"Try again. You'll call him tomorrow," he mumbles.

"He's holding something back. I get the distinct feeling that there's more he's not telling me. Then again, we don't really know each other too well to begin with."

"You can trust him."

"Can I?" My body slouches down into a more comfortable position. "Not so sure about that."

He bends over and draws my legs up to stretch them across the coffee table. "You trust me right?" Making quick work of unlacing my right sneaker, he slides it off, and drops it to the floor, before reaching across to my left shoe to do the same. "You trust me right?" he repeats, as he reclines resting his head against the couch. With a hiked brow, his commanding stare probed me for an answer.

I glance away.

The question is rhetorical, but I nod anyway. At this point I don't really have a choice. This messenger has been in my life, popping up in my home ever since I left the hospital. Making sure I have everything I need even before I myself could think of it. At first his uncanny ability irked me, but now, his intrinsic understanding is highly… endearing. When did Mike, or anyone else for that matter, make me feel this way?

"So, you can trust him," he says.

"Yeah but…

"But…"

"Nothing," I sigh.

"No," His fingers graze my wrist, "Say what's on your mind Michonne."

"But he's not you." Lieutenant Grimes was the one there with me—Who came and gave me peace when I was alone and buried in the dark. "And you're not him." Or are you? God this is so confusing. "Forget it."

I grab my laptop from a side table and pull up a file. "This is everything I've got so far on the Judith Grimes foundation. Financials, patients, doctors, findings, everything." I scroll through my findings. "It's a lot of work. I'm gonna have to focus on this case alone. And I know I promised to look into it, into him, but … I am going to need more time to persuade him."

"And that's what these people don't have—time. Listen I know these patients, these children are terminal, but Doctor Grimes is fighting for their future. You need to help him do that. Besides, this is just the start."

"You keep saying that but you won't explain further."

"It's because I can't."

"And Mike? He's the reason behind all of this. You couldn't tell me that either? How come you kept that vital piece of information from me?"

"It's better this way. Having him tell you… he needs to believe in your ignorance."

I close my computer and replace it to the side. So I'm the 'key' because of who my husband is? I have to battle him through a divorce, for custody of my child, the Richards' case, and now this?

"Hey, it's getting late," the Lieutenant says. "You need to get some dinner. You left chicken salad in the fridge… but I threw that out. Should I get you something else?"

I draw back and shake my head. "No. Thanks. I got it. Hey can I ask you something?"

"I'm laid up here on your sofa. You can ask me anything Michonne." And there it is, that damned winking smile of his.

"How long you're gonna keep hanging around?"

"As long as you-I… As long as I need to. To make sure you and Rick get through this, together."

"Okay, in that case, I need a favor. I need you to change." I suck in my lips pausing to anticipate his response to my request

"It's getting confusing for you?"

"Yes," I whisper, avoiding his stare. "I'm still not one hundred percent sure I'm not completely out of mind." I chuckle and drag my gaze back towards his. He wants to know my reason, but he doesn't ask for one, and I don't offer either. "Could you do that? Could you be someone else?"

He goes silent for awhile until a painful awkwardness sets in, and I regret saying anything.

"Forget it. You don't have to, if it's a problem Lieutenant."

"It isn't… I mean…" He shakes his head and sighs.

So it is a problem. "I said forget it." I'm tired, I need a shower, and I need to eat.

He grabs my arm as I begin to move off the couch, and stops me. "No, I'll do it. I'll change if you want me to. In order for you to move forward, you shouldn't be confused. Not like this. Besides… the way you keep staring at me…" He jumps up with a smile dangling on the corner of his lips before I could hit him.

"What?" Giggling from embarrassment I toss a pillow aiming for his head, but he catches it and throws the cushion back at me causing me to burst out laughing.

"Don't _w_ _hat_ me."

"Explain yourself!"

"Nah. Forget it. Forget I said anything," he grins. "Okay you got any requests?"

Unsteadily, I stand up. "Yeah. No one I know who's dead already."

He laughs and scratches his scruffy face. "Well alright, that might be too creepy."

"Extremely."

"Think I can manage that. Close your eyes."

"What for?"

"Just do it."

I laugh and follow orders.

Behind my closed lids I detect a bright flash of light within a few seconds. A wave of heat floods the room as though my fireplace, my oven, and all six burners have instantly roared to life. I'm tempted to peek but it gets brighter and brighter, and I have to shield my entire face with my arms. Is he trying to blind me?

"Okay," he says, as the brightness dissipates. "What do you think?"

When I uncover my eyes, I flash a consenting smile at the new person before me. Still good looking, yet, more boyish with kind eyes. "Do I still call you Lieutenant?"

"No way. Too formal."

"Well what then?"

"How about… Glenn?"

I grin and nod. "Yeah, I like that. Suits you. And who is this Glenn?" I assume he's yet again stealing someone's persona.

"Another face you're gonna learn to trust."

He bends down and kisses my cheek. "Okay Michonne… Rick, call him tomorrow. He's a bit of a dumbass, but don't give up. He might not be willing to admit it just yet, but he needs you. They all do."

~0~0~0~

After taking a long, steamy, introspective shower, I slip on my pink cotton robe and rummaged my kitchen to prepare a quick sandwich before heading to bed.

In the middle of my dinner, someone unexpected shows up at my door. Through the peephole I am surprised to find Tara, my assistant, standing there. As soon as I invite her inside, she informs me about her private investigator contacting her, needing to urgently meet.

They'd acquired pertinent information in connection with our case on Richards— specifically on the Councilman's alleged association to my husband and his Uncle. In possession of this new file, Tara couldn't wait till tomorrow to bring these findings for me to see.

"I know it's late, but I just couldn't go home and sit with this."

"No," I say, thumbing through the pages from her report. "I appreciate you coming. I need to get to the bottom of this as soon as possible." Time was running out for me. Mike would want to see his demand come through any day now, as I have resumed my duties. Or else I end up in a heartrending custody battle.

"O-Okay but the thing is, Michonne…" she pauses with a nervous look haunting her face.

"What is it Tara?"

"I think you need to sit first," She grabs my elbow and guides me to the couch. As we sit down she takes the folder from me and spreads out the papers on the coffee table. "Look at this…" She removes two of the pages and hands them to me. "Mike's Uncle is the founder of CTN's Pharmaceuticals out in Columbus, right?"

I nod knowing that information already.

"Well…" she continues, "…according to this, some years back he'd been recruited by a scientist friend of his to help start a program… a research program."

"Research on what?"

"This report doesn't say exactly, except the code attached to it is ST-91."

"And Mike? How does he fit into this?"

She points to the middle of the first page. "This scientist, his name is Dr. Kevin Reynolds, he went to college with Mike's Uncle Craig. Now though, he's employed by the CDC Foundation. The foundation, unlike the Center for Disease Control itself, does not fall under the federal government."

"You're right, it's a nonprofit organization. It doesn't have access to the billions of dollars allocated for disease control and prevention."

"Exactly. So this Dr. Reynolds needed funding. But, not just funding Michonne, he needed expertise." Her finger, which still rested on the page, slides down to a list at the bottom. "These other doctors are from the main CDC headquarters here in Atlanta, but, Reynolds' outside partner..."

"Mike's Uncle?"

"…And Mike himself, being the cash cow, so to speak, can also provide their own specialists." She then turns the page to show me a second shorter list of individuals.

I shrug my shoulders and shake my head "What about Richards, Is he involved as well?"

"No. It doesn't mention him at all in this report, But my guy says that according to this information, the program took a turn for the worse. Unfortunately, things got bad, people died and no one said a word. Everything got swept under the rug. My guess is, Richards, he found out. Maybe he tried to dig up something on you, but instead, discovered this about Mike and the Foundation."

I smile, thankful for the diligent, though illegal, skills of Tara's friend. As my mind starts formulating a plan on how to use this information I gather the rest of the documents from off the table to place them back in the file. My night… no my entire weekend – every second of the next forty-eight hours – would be spent pouring through every word, every space, every full stop until the data becomes branded in my brain. "I owe you big time Tara."

"Yeah you know a raise would be nice. And some more vacation time?" She hands me the pages she still held in her hand.

I chuckle. I owe her more than that but it would be a start—

Just then I freeze, my smile slips away, and I stare wide-eyed as my attention lands on one particular name on the page in front of me standing out plain as day in black and white…

 **'Dr. Richard Grimes, MD.'**

~0~0~0~0~0~0~


	4. Chapter 4

**Halo: 4**

Saturday morning outside my building, a torrent of water flows down the streets. The blanketed white sky, heavy with clouds, and the constant pour of rain signal a bleak and dreary day. Waiting for my espresso machine to finish brewing, I wrangle on the soundness of my decision to contact Rick asking him to come over and see me. I need to call him back. Tell him not to bother. Tomorrow, the weather will be better and besides, speaking with him so soon after recent developments may cause more harm than good.

I shuffle across to my island countertop and grab up my phone. On the verge of dialing his number, he shows up at my door.

As he stands in my entranceway I scan him from head to toe—From his plastered hair, down to his dripping boots. He's wearing a dark jacket, with a grey shirt and black tie, over a pair of loosely fitted jeans. "Hey."

"Hey."

"You found the place alright?"

"Yeah no problem." He shakes his black umbrella out in the hallway and I step aside to let him in.

As I close the door, I take the flimsy contraption from his grasp, and hang it on to the coat rack. "I umm, I appreciate you coming. I know it's out of your way to work, and well, the weather's gotten pretty bad out there."

"No, don't worry about it." His fingers rake back his damp curls and he smiles. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I am."

He follows me when I stagger my way back to my kitchenette. "You sure? It's just, the way you sounded on the phone…"

"No, no we umm, we need to talk about some things, is all." I switch off the hissing machine and grab two mugs off of my cup stand. "Coffee?"

"Alright," he says, pulling up a seat at my counter and accepting the hot beverage I poured for him. His Georgia drawl, together with his inquisitive eyes, indicate something specific is on his mind, but he decides to hold back. Rather, his gaze trail my every movement as I hustle to put together the ingredients I've set aside for our sandwich platters.

"What is it, Rick?" I ask, after awhile.

"Is this breakfast?"

I glance up from placing the sautéed mushrooms and herbs on the scrambled eggs and toasted slices of bread, incredulity written across his face.

"Honestly," He cocks his head up and shrugs, "I'm surprised you even called, Michonne. Don't get me wrong… I'm, I'm glad you did. After we last spoke, yesterday, I needed to say how sorry I am, about… about how—"

"Forget it. I don't need for you to tell me you're sorry."

 _'What I need is the truth.'_

I set my palms down flat on the granite surface, restraining myself from opening the discussion just yet regarding the questionable research program.

For the majority of the night I dwelt on Mike, and whether or not the source of this report is true. Is the Councilman threatening him with exposure? Or could there be something else? If the answer is yes, then how many secrets does my husband have hidden in his closet?

Distracted, I retrieve a bread knife from my cutlery drawer to cut off the crusts from Rick's sandwich. However, I halt mid-action and sigh. I am on auto-pilot, and silently I have to admonish myself.

 _'This is not for Mike…Your husband, he isn't here.'_

Releasing a harsh breath I rest the knife down forcing myself to refocus.

Rick: How am I going to broach this discovery with him? What is his reaction going to be like? Why did this man participate in these experiments in the first place?

Although, ten minutes later, my queries still flood my mind as I am seated next to him at my small, round dining table sharing a meal, neither one of us says much of anything.

Not until we finish eating does Rick compliment me on the sleek urban design of my home, with its open floor plan, concrete ceiling and hardwood floors. He especially likes the spectacular view of the skyline filling the large floor-to-ceiling windows in my living room. On the other hand, he admitted he figured Mike and I would've been living in a mansion up in Buckhead by now.

"Oh no, no, no." I quickly dispel that notion. I like small spaces, and the easy flow created from the openly connected living room, kitchen and dining room is a favorite aspect of mine as well. Plus, being in proximity to great restaurants, entertainment venues, and my office are features I wouldn't be in a hurry to depart with.

As soon as we get up from the table, he helps put the dishes in the sink and apologizes for not being able to stay long; he needed to be at the hospital within an hour.

However, I cannot allow him to leave, not yet. So my hand locates Tara's file in the far right corner of the island counter, and I slide the folder over to him. Better to plunge right in rather than tip toe around the disconcerting issue. "Could you look at this?"

Picking up the report, he peruses the pages, and I observe as his expression changes from genuine curiosity to absolute shock, and, finally, to infuriated disbelief.

"Hold up. Where did you get this information?" he asks. "Mike gave this to you?"

"No. I have my own resources."

"First my charity and now here you come with this?" Tilting his head he holds up the folder with such disgust, and his eyes narrow at me with extreme skepticism. Not that I can blame him. "That's why you invite me over here, you're out for my blood?!"

"No. I'm out for answers."

"As the Assistant District Attorney?" He slaps the documents down on to the counter in front of me. "Or as Mike Anthony's wife?"

"Both," I steel myself against the disdain in his voice and answer truthfully, "But I have no interest in you."

"That's not what you said in the cafe."

I swallow hard and step across to the other side of the kitchen, not wanting his indignation to affect me.

Reciting a few facts, I come clean with everything. Well... everything with regards to Mike's request concerning the case against Richards and the position my husband's put me in. "That's why I looked into his Uncle, that's what led me to this. I never expected to discover that you of all people would be involved."

"I am _not_ involved. Not anymore," he says, bolting towards the front door and away from me, his entire body stiff with anger.

In haste I chase after him. "I don't care either way Rick. My original agenda was to help prevent the loss of your foundation."

"And now?" He stops and whirls around causing me to stumble into him. His hands jerk up to grasp my shoulders, and for a split second we both freeze. "What exactly is your agenda Michonne?" His glacial gaze dissects mine for a reply, and oddly, my stomach flutters in a frenzy.

 _'You! My agenda is you. Everything ties back to you and I need help to understand why.'_

"It's like I said, this is about my case against Richards," I respond with a partial truth. "He must be using this program to get to Mike. And now Mike wants to take my son, he is using him to manipulate me…" Sucking in my lips, I lower my head and shut my eyes to dismiss the possible loss of Andre. The thought sickens me. And for a moment I find it hard to breathe.

Slowly, his fingers slide down my arms towards my hands but I take a prompt step back. "Sorry," he says in a quieter voice.

"No, don't be. I am not going after your Foundation… or this Reynolds' program. But this is the leverage I need to fight against Mike and Councilman Richards."

"Well, there's more to it than what's in your report, Michonne."

"More? Tell me."

Drawing in a sharp breath, a deep frown of objection creases his face.

"Tell me," I implore quietly.

Shuffling around me, he drags his feet into my living room and props himself against the back of my couch.

He nods. "After a year, a year and a half of working together," He shoves his hands inside of his jeans pockets and sighs. "Mike approached me. I was desperate… and, he knew it. Knew I needed more funds. More families, more children were discovered and I needed the money. I thought I could just do the minimum with this research of Doctor Reynolds, but I didn't know. I didn't know about CTN's pharmaceutical scheme."

I stagger across the room and furrow my brows at him, making no attempt to conceal my confusion. Scheme? What scheme?

Reading my perplexity, with a heavy spirit, he went on to explain.

"Years back, CTN created these drugs for Diabetes, but, they got charged and forced to pay a hefty million dollar fine for fraud and the cover-up of fatal side-effects from their product. Reynolds ' program now, is actually a human-challenge program, where people are deliberately infected with a pathogen to test drugs and vaccines. CTN made some alterations to their Diabetes product to combat this rare disease with Reynolds, but the side-effects were still disturbing and only getting worse. And then… then things went too far. And I told him—Mike—I was done. I walked out."

"And Mike pulled his resources. Because you dropped out of this program," I reply, as the whole picture became clear in my mind.

"After we had a test subject go into a coma for a week, I strongly recommended that we cease with the experiments. But they didn't want that. I, I couldn't do it anymore. I knew we were already messing around with something we shouldn't have been."

"But how is CTN profiting?"

"Illegal promotion and distribution on the international market."

"That's it?"

"That's everything I know. But according to those documents," He points across to the open folder. "People died. So…what are you gonna do about it?"

"I don't know." First of all, this is one for the Bureau. Secondly, if I expose this program, not only would CTN be destroyed, but Mike would be in some serious trouble, and not to mention everyone else involved, including Rick. And I don't want that. Not in the slightest.

Then again, there would be no contest in getting full custody of my son, and I can freely pursue justice in the Richards' case.

I hobble over to retrieve my file and I check the date. "This information is dated three months ago. You know if they've shut it down by now?"

"No they haven't. As far as I know, that program is still being run. The heads at CDC are in the dark."

"Are you sure?"

"No," he says. "I'm not a hundred percent sure."

"Are you in touch with any of the other doctors Mike hired?"

"No. We all signed an agreement. But… it's not impossible. I could visit one of them. Dr. Rigoux, knew her before… during my residency."

"Okay good. I'll come with you." I turn to head to my bedroom to grab my trench jacket and a pair of boots. "Give me two minutes."

He shoots up from his seated position and holds up both of his hands in disapproval. "Well I don't think I can let you do that."

I stop and look back at him. "You gonna try to stop me?"

~0~0~0~0~

Half an hour later, I'm over at Mercy Hospital waiting outside in Rick's truck in the parking lot. He insisted on searching out Dr. Rigoux by himself, not wanting her to feel intimidated if it were the both of us. With much reluctance, I stayed back.

Now that I am alone, however, I take the opportunity to discreetly survey the contents of the Doctor's Ford pick-up truck. His vehicle is more or less clean, for a man, but in the backseat I eye a green and black pair of running shoes, and a brown shopping bag. I discover a few documents in his glove compartment, but I hold back from perusing his private papers, and he has some sweets and a pack of gum in the center console cup-holders.

I pick up the Trident spearmint gum and smile. Reminds me of a client's little girl I met years ago when I was a junior associate at SEO &Associates law firm. My competition, Mathew Billingford, and I were assigned the same case. Together we visited the wrongly accused's, Mr. Daniel Gittens, family at their home.

His little girl, a 5 year old…or maybe younger, maybe 3, I can't remember, but anyway, she took a liking to Mathew with his long lashes and GQ smile. She climbed into his lap and asked him for a stick of gum. When he confessed to not having any, she gave him such a stern look and called him a liar. She said that her Daddy drove a truck, and that he always had gum in the glove compartment. We had a good laugh at her deductions because apparently she noticed when we pulled up in Matthew's midnight blue Nissan four-by-four.

Later that same night... I cheated on Mike in the back of that truck.

Within twenty-four hours I'd confessed to my betrayal to Mike with tears and shame. I couldn't stomach living with the burden of such a huge secret and lie.

How grateful I felt when my understanding husband forgave me. I promised myself back then that I would always be perfect for him, because despite my infidelity, Mike still cherished me. He was better than what I deserved… or so I thought.

Through the pouring rain, my attentions flicker up as I spy Rick reappearing outside the Accident and Emergency entrance accompanied by a petite black woman, with thick burgundy braids bundled on top of her head, and dressed in a long white coat. Doctor Rigoux, I presume.

As I observe them talking, I wonder about my messenger Glenn, wishing for him to suddenly materialize and let me know if I'm on the right path. I want to help Doctor Grimes, I respect his honesty, and so I think I can trust him. Not simply because Glenn told me to, but, regardless of Rick's poor judgment in that one instance, I'm in the presence of a good man. I myself am not perfect. I've made a thousand ill-advised choices.

Recalling my file on him, I'm supposed to work on keeping this foundation open. That's the promise I made. His charity—the finances are due to run out, but I don't know when.

If I ask, he wouldn't say. He'll probably remind me that it's none of my business.

 _"Just answer the damn question Rick."_ No, no… that would be the wrong approach. He wants to save his foundation— All the work, the research…those kids… he's gonna fight. Isn't he? That's the only reason I'm here. If he loses the charity, the failure… _'It will break him, and too many people are gonna be dependent on him.'_ My messenger's words run through my head.

Soon enough, Rick comes trudging back to the vehicle and he climbs in to his driver's seat.

"Well, what did she say?" I ask without hesitation, anxious for answers.

"There's nothing much she could say. But she's still there."

"She said so?"

"Didn't have to. It was written all over her face and I didn't want to have to push her. She's got a family and everything so it's not gonna be that easy to get her to give me something. Maybe, it would be best if we just…" Gripping the steering wheel with one hand, the other rubbing his bearded chin, he turns and stares outside of his window. "Look. I know it looks bad alright. But _I'll_ figure something out. Alright?"

"Yeah sure."

He turns on the ignition and drives out on to the wet, slick road heading back towards my apartment.

"And your daughter's foundation?"

He glances across at me. " _I'll_ find the money someplace. There's gotta be a different way. I know it's out there I just have to find it."

"And that's what I'm trying to do here, is to help you figure this out. It's not just about money. We'll find someone else… focus on marketing and growth. I could hire the best marketer who'll make your charity competitive, and attract more third-party donors."

"Why? You know I just, I just don't understand why you're so hell bent on getting involved in any of this." He starts honking at the car that's cruising in front of him. The driver pulls to the side and lets us pass.

"I admit I wasn't so sure about you," Rick says. "Right from the start, whether or not you were like him."

"I am not." I twist my body to face him and plead my case. "I am not a threat to you or your foundation."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps you are and you don't even know it yet."

I know he says this isn't my fight, but the Lieuten—Glenn was correct: Getting involved, fixing Mike's mess, is the right thing to do. "I'm here to help because I can, if you'll just let me. Your daughter, Judith—"

Without warning, he pulls over to the side, mashes the brakes and glares at me. "Don't do that."

"Okay…" I take in a deep breath. How am I going to get through to this man? Why is he being so difficult?

"Rick, answer me this… Why'd you come to see me, after I'd been discharged from the hospital and I started therapy? You didn't have to. We barely knew each other… we weren't friends. So why did you?"

He refocuses his gaze straight ahead, thoughtful. "Think you know why, Michonne."

"You came because you felt sorry for me. You felt guilty. But you took a chance and befriended me, even though I'm married to a man you despise. A man who used the most important thing in your life to …"

"To corrupt me? Make me break my integrity?"

My heart shatters for him when I see the shimmer of regret in his eyes. "We all make mistakes. We all falter. But you…" In that instant a pain shoots up my left leg and cuts through my thoughts. I wince with a sharp inhale, and my arms jerk out to grab the sides of the seat.

"Hey you okay?" He yanks up his hand brakes, unbuckles from his seat and leans over to me.

"No I'm, I'm fine," Just the opposite my fingers dig into the leather material as pain lances through my bone.

Ignoring my reassurances, Rick lowers himself over my knees and tugs my pants leg up to examine my injury. "Have you been putting ice on this?" he asks, after he notices my swelling pressing his fingers into my flesh.

"Not all the time," I confess. "But Sasha said it's normal."

"Well she's right." With ease he slides the hem of my pants back down, straightens himself up and hovers over me. I cannot help the guilt plastered across my face under his piercing stare. "It's not unusual for some people to swell more than others, and it could take a full year for you to be back to your fitness level prior to the factures."

Once more my stomach goes on a tangent with him leaning in so close. "So?"

"So?" His gaze darts over my face "…time to take you home." He moves back into his seat and straps himself in. "You need to lay down… get those legs up with some Ice packs."

"Is that an order, or a recommendation?"

Heartfelt laughter escapes him. It's deep, raspy, and contagious, and I gift him with a sincere smile. "That's an order," he says. "You look exhausted."

He's right. I stayed up most of the night agonizing over my case.

A minute later we've resumed driving through the rain.

"You're a compassionate man, Rick. The program… I'm not here for that. As far we know, they could have things under control by now, or soon, it may not be up and running any more. Mike offered you a deal and you took it."

"But I shouldn't have."

"That's not for me to say, and you aren't the only doctor who's on this list. Listen... I can't force you to trust me."

"It's not about trust, Michonne."

"But it is. And I don't blame you. My gut tells me that together we could save Judith's foundation."

Just then, we arrive at my building, and as he parks right in front of the entrance, Rick asks if I'll let him take me up straight to my door.

Analyzing the diminishing bad weather, I tell him no.

He dips his head for a while in quiet contemplation. "How could you not know what your husband's been up to?"

"Maybe I didn't want to know." Besides, our marriage has been an illusion for some time. Hard for me to face the reality of our disintegrating relationship.

"How did you two meet?"

I arch my brow at his personal question.

"It's like you said Michonne, you can't force me to trust you. But, I think I want to."

I smile and nod, as a slight sense of accomplishment and a hint of joy swells within me. Progress. Finally.

"I.. met Mike at a gala his parents held for their twentieth wedding anniversary, two hundred guests gathered out at the exclusive Dunwoody country club. I was twenty-five, at the end of my first year at Law school, and he was pursuing his MBA. A mutual friend of ours thought we would be a good fit as a couple."

"Love at first sight?"

"Hardly, well not for me anyway." Michael Lee Anthony: one of Georgia's young and privileged, eligible black men. Tall with a handsome smile, well cultured and self-assured, having a clear-cut vision of his future and the quality of life he intended to live, all made him a gold nugget in the eyes of many women—Young and old—Black and white. Brown and red. He had his pick of women, therefore, due to his cockiness, upon our initial meeting I couldn't see the appeal.

"By the end of the night though, he'd managed to convince me to sacrifice my weekends to volunteer at Habitat for Humanity." And those weekends turned out to be some of the best times in my young-adult life. "Two years later, despite my stifling doubts I agreed to be his wife."

"He is persuasive, I give him that."

"Back then, he was different." I sigh with deep remorse, glancing out of my window. The downpour now lightened to a steady drizzle. "Or maybe not. Maybe I was too young to see."

"No… you fell in-love."

My teeth grazes my bottom lip as I cast a shy look back at him. "Yeah. I did." Mind, body, and soul. Mike Anthony became my everything.

My head shakes at Rick as I behold a look of pity in his eyes. And honestly, it's not necessary. "That's life isn't it? Love and Loss."

"And love again," he whispers.

"For some. The lucky ones."

We find ourselves staring at each other for a few vulnerable moments, but I'm the first to look away. My fingers fumble the object on my lap and I lift the folder containing the Reynolds documents, and press it against his chest. "Take it. I'll find another way."

Not waiting for a response, I open the door, I pull my hoodie up and gingerly exit the truck. He offers again to escort me upstairs, but again, I decline. Before I limp away, however, I decide to give it one more shot.

Bending down I peer at him through the window and put up my index finger. "Give me, one day. We put our heads together and brainstorm an actual workable plan. A clear place to start, make sure your charity has a future. A proposition, a –"

"Alright." He closes his eyes and chuckles, realizing how relentless I could be. "I have work today, like an hour ago."

"So tomorrow? I'll make lunch."

"Sure, tomorrow. But I'll bring take-out. Can't in good conscience have you on your feet slaving over a meal for me. What do you like?" he asks, his hearty southern accent making a reappearance.

"Italian… I like Italian."

"So do I." He stares for a beat with a grin. "Deal?"

"Yeah. Deal."

"Oh," He picks up the folder and holds it out through the window, "And you can keep that."

"Sure?"

He nods.

"Bye Rick."

"Bye Michonne. I'll come see you tomorrow."

~0~0~0~

Slowly but surely, I've ambled my way up to my floor, cursing myself for not taking those damned crutches. Pausing outside of my apartment, keys in hand, I hear familiar sounds drifting towards me right from inside. I hear 'These Arms of Mine' by Otis Redding. I hear the pounding of a knife on a chopping board. I hear giggles. I hear…

 _'Mike. Andre.'_

…my family.

My heart's pace speeds up as I shove my way through the door, my eyes widen and I am stunned by the unexpected scene greeting me. My husband is in the kitchen dressed in an apron, and our baby's sitting on the counter next to him, sucking on a slice of tomato.

"Mommy. Yea." Andre beams. "We're making pizza."

"Hey Mich. Where've you been?" Mike asks. "We've been waiting for you."

~0~0~0~0~


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Hi readers. This update is overdue I know. That's what happens when you are winging it. Lol. The chapter turned out super long, so of course I split it into two. So enjoy, let me know your thoughts and that's it for me. Thanks for your amazing support.

* * *

 **Halo: 5**

Too shocked to respond, I march over to the stereo in the living room and switch off the music, peeved by the audacity of this man to show up in my home unannounced.

"Michonne…where are you now coming from?" Mike asks, placing slices of green sweet peppers from the cutting board into one of my Pyrex bowls.

Biting my tongue, I eye the remaining red, green, and yellow ingredients set out in plastic grocery bags on the counter, and flour already poured into a large metal mixing bowl. The salty scent of cheese and Italian seasoning permeating the air, intruding my senses.

Noting my reaction, "Andre missed you," Mike says, as he steps over to the sink to rinse his hands, and then dries them on his apron. "So I thought, 'Hey let's go have lunch with Mommy, give her a surprise.' But when we came, you weren't here."

I glance back at their wet jackets hanging on my coat rack. "So you just let yourself in?"

"Worked out didn't it?" He shrugs with a large grin, though his eyes remain hard as nails, speaking something else.

I shoot him a look of annoyance.

"Well aren't you surprised? And we're making your favorite…"

"Ham and pineapple pizza," Andre squeals as his little arms shot up in the air with excitement, clueless to the sullen tension between the adults. Smaller than your average three-year old, with brown curly hair and, high cheekbones which matched his father's; but his enthusiastic and curious spirit is large enough to fill any room.

Mike slaps him a high-five. "That's right—"

"Stop," I say, disgust at his pretense wrenches my stomach. Is this some kind of game to him?

"Come on don't be like that. I even washed your dishes..." His head cocks up and he casts an appraising glance down at me. "… All of them."

I roll my eyes. Mike must realize how easy it is for me to see right through him. The only reason for this charade is to keep me in check… to remind me what's at stake. And our child, is his shield.

"Just stop," I say, "Don't think that I don't know why you're really here."

"Michonne," He lifts Andre off of the countertop, hikes him up on to his shoulders, and strides over to me. "I'm not gonna lie, but yeah we need to talk."

I shift my angry glare from Mike up to my son. Right now, my arms burn with a longing to stretch out and envelop my peanut, but I have to show utmost restraint, as I still have the evidence of his father's misdeeds hidden right under my jacket.

So instead, I excuse myself. I head straight towards my office, close the door, and secure the documents inside the drawer of my desk.

Just as I turned the lock, and stood up to slip off my trench coat, a shadowy figure flickers in the corner of my eye. But before I could lift my attentions, a hushed voice from by the door makes my heart skip a beat, and my body jerks.

"You're gonna tell him to leave, right?"

My head snaps up to find _him_ standing across from me.

"Glenn? What the hell?" I gasp.

"You have to tell him he can't be here, okay." His expression is stern yet fretful.

The timing of Glenn's visit, along with his orders, is downright bizarre and puzzling.

"It's not that simple," I say, ensuring my voice is quiet as well. "In case you didn't notice he brought my son."

"Because he's trying to confuse you but you can't let him."

"Of course not."

He sighs. "Don't let him intimidate you. The longer he stays…"

"What, what is it?" I step over to him and brush my hand on his upper arm, concerned about his concern for me. Why is he so agitated by my husband's presence?

"Mike, he'll pay for all his unscrupulous activities. I say that with a definitive guarantee."

"What, you gonna beat him up or something?" With an arched brow I give him a teasing smile, although I'm moved to appreciate his remarkable consideration. The degree, however, of his sense of responsibility towards me is... peculiar. It's not like my life is in any immediate danger.

He chuckles. "You think I won't?"

"Think you can't." I poke a finger into his chest. "Think you're here for the pizza."

He shakes his head. "Whatever, just go on out there and you tell him to go. You can do this. Don't get into it with him. You might say something you shouldn't."

I understand his point. I'm already in a complicated web and I have to tread lightly.

Just as I turned the knob to leave though, I glance back at Glenn for a second. "Wait. What about Rick? Am I doing the right thing?"

"It depends. How do you feel about making that choice?"

"Feels like I'm doing the right thing."

"Then there's your answer." He peeks outside the cracked door behind me. "You know… you said I can't, but I actually _could_ get rid of Mike, if you want me to. Just say the word."

Intrigued, I narrow my brows and push the door close again. "Get rid of him, how? Like kill him?"

His eyes freeze and his mouth falls open. "No! I'm not _that_ dude. Geez. There's other ways."

"Oh." I shrug my shoulders and chuckle. What else was I to assume? "No. Like I said, I'll do it."

"Okay I'll come back later, if that's okay with you."

"Of course." Like he has to ask…

In the next second, I waltz out into the corridor, and before I could shut the door behind me, he vanishes into thin air. I swallow hard knowing I'll never get used to that.

As soon as I return to the living room, Mike, using vague but not-so-vague terms doesn't hesitate to remind me of our arrangement. However, he slips by mentioning that his investment in his uncle's business is at stake, inadvertently letting me know for a fact that not only is the Reynolds' program still up and running, this is what Councilman Richards is holding over him.

I can't use the information as leverage just yet, not until I find out more. When I do, I can officially charge both him and Richards with collusion and obstruction of justice, amongst other things.

Before Mike says anything further though, I ask Andre, who is no longer on his father's shoulders, but playing with his trucks on the floor, to go get his own baking apron from his room. Both his father and I have always avoided arguing in front of him, Mike especially, as his childhood was marred by too many memories of his own parents fighting constantly in the presence of him and his siblings.

"Do you honestly believe you're going to get away with this?" I ask, as soon as Andre is out of sight. "Doing favors for a murderer?"

"Oh are you suddenly worried about me?" He unties his stupid apron and tosses it to the chair behind him.

"How can you live like this? There has to be a moment or two where you can't ignore the guilt eating you up inside."

"Guilt is for the weak."

What did he just say? He sounds, looks, and even smells like my husband—the man I've spent the past ten years building a life with—but I don't know this person. He is a complete stranger, a fraud and I can't predict what he'll say or do next.

Well one thing I am certain of, is that not only do I have to play smart with Mike, but I also need to be on guard and aggressive.

"You know I can still expose both your affair, and your request for a divorce to every media outlet, don't you?"

"You wouldn't."

"Really? You sure about that?" I'd made this threat before. On the same day my mother-in-law returned Andre home to me after I'd left the hospital, I reminded her of my access to the residents of Atlanta and, how easy it would be to disseminate Mike's dirty laundry. Something neither him, nor his mother wanted.

Yes my reputation as well would be dragged through the mud—my personal life gossip fodder—but I didn't care.

Wait… that isn't true. I lied, of course I care. I worked too damn hard to allow any scandal to tarnish my name and overshadow my accomplishments.

But at the end of day, what's more important? My child or my career?

"Yes, I'm sure," he replies arrogantly. "I know you like the back of my hand."

He moves in closer trying to impose his tall stature over me, but I take a tentative step back, fold my arms and stare straight at him.

"Well, you'd be surprised at what it is I know about you," I reply.

Standing my ground in opposition to Mike strangely did not feel new. Truth be told, within the last couple of years we'd grown accustomed to the bitter discord which developed between us. At times our disputes would be less intense than others, and we'd managed to carry on with a regular family life where we'd talk and laugh together, dine together, and still be intimate with each other, all the while ignoring the demons of resentment and disappointment slithering just beneath the surface.

But the fact I was still taken aback by his pursuit for a separation, let me know that without a doubt, somewhere deep inside, hope lingered—for our marriage and for our love to return to an approved state, to persevere despite the damage that had been done. We'd promised _'Together forever'_ right?

Yet, here we are, face to face, with a million miles of serious distrust, along with our pride and joy wedged between us.

"I don't know what it is you think you know, but I don't like your tone Michonne."

He grabs me by my arm and I yank away from him just as swiftly.

"And I don't like you coming into my home whenever you want. As a matter of fact, it's time to leave. I'm done."

"Now I'm not so sure about _that_ , because I haven't gotten anything solid from you. Only disinformation."

"Too bad. Like I said I'm done, and it's time to leave."

"Today didn't have to be this way."

As he tries to move pass me I press my hand against his chest. "Just you. He stays."

He dusts my hand off and scoffs. "No, that's not our agreement. You'll have him from after school on Monday."

"This is his home. You brought him here."

"And I'm not leaving without him."

"So you are a son of a bitch through and through? Like Father like son huh?" I step aside and gesture down the corridor to Andre's room. "Go ahead then, go make your baby cry." If this low-blow doesn't work—elicit those painful memories of his parents physically bickering over him—I am prepared to make a scene.

His fiery gaze drops towards the floor. "To hell with you."

Guilt is for the weak indeed. "Get out."

My son and I spend the rest of the day in joyous peace, alone with each other. We hadn't had a weekend together since…well since everything happened over two months ago. Before then, I'd only spent a handful of nights away from him. Suffice it to say, missing our bedtime ritual of songs and stories and games, became a small torture for me.

By nightfall, I find myself lying on the floor of Andre's bedroom in the middle of another serious game of Animal Farm. Wearing his favorite Batman pajamas, his energy level is still at maximum, whilst I've been yawning constantly for the past hour, hour and a half.

Meanwhile, out in the living room, season three of Paw Patrol has been blasting on repeat, and I'm pretty certain we can both recite every word of every episode by now. The show will haunt me in my sleep.

Suddenly, there is a distinct knocking at my door. Damn it. I hope it's not Mike. I'm not in the mood to tackle with him twice in the same day. But if it is my soon-to-be ex-husband, then I need to keep a level head, maintain my calm, no matter what altercation might ensue.

"Peanut, someone's outside. C'mon." I scoop Andre up and hobble out to the front of the apartment, where I place him on the sofa before answering the door. Just as my hand reaches for the knob I call out, holding my breath preparing for the worst. "Hello? Who's there?"

"Michonne, hey… Open up. It's me."

* * *

 **Rick Grimes:**

When the door to Michonne's apartment swings open, I barge right in not waiting for an invitation.

"We need to talk right now." I watch as her eyes widen at the acute urgency in my entire disposition.

"Rick, what's wrong? We're supposed to meet tomorrow."

I trudge away from her and into the living room, but I halt in my tracks when I catch sight of a little boy on the couch. "Oh… oh I, I'm sorry. I didn't realize…"

"Mike dropped him off earlier," she says, as she steps up next to me. "Something came up so, I got lucky."

My eyes linger on her for a moment. Am I imposing on her evening with her son? From what little she's told me, Andre no longer stays with her on the weekends as he's being shared half and half every week. _'Poor kid.'_

God, what am I doing here? Can't burden this woman any further with my problems. I shouldn't. But, who else am I gonna turn to?

"It's okay, we could talk," she says in response to my uncertainty. "Don't worry, he's in a zone. Come."

She grasps my elbow for a second and leads me down the short corridor and turns right into her… bedroom? No, of course not Rick. It's a home office. A black wooden contemporary desk with a dark red leather chair against a brown accent wall, and framed photographs covers the opposite white wall, with a tall house plant nestled in the corner by a window. A globe light fixture dangles from the ceiling in the center of the room. I leave the door ajar behind me as I step in.

So… what's wrong?" she asks quietly.

My eyes are drawn to her rich, slender legs as she crosses her still swollen ankles, whilst leaning back against the desk. Her arms are propped on either side for support. She's wearing a pair of mid-thigh khaki shorts, together with a black tank top, and her hair is tied back in a low bun.

"I uh, had a somewhat unusual day today." I glance around the room and scratch my brow with my thumb feeling disconcerted about what I'm about to say. "Spent most of my shift down in the ER, they were short-staffed and ,my board was light so I offered to help."

"Okay… And something happened?" Her words are careful, as if she's interviewing a witness, taking their statement.

"Two men came in through emergency at separate times, one this morning, the other right after lunch. Both been sick for days nearly a week, and only getting worse. Both showed typical flu like symptoms–chills, high fever, abdominal pain—nothing much to worry about, I thought. Not at first."

A pause, and Michonne asks, "But?"

"But…I was wrong. It turned out not to be the flu…turned out not to be anything I tested for. Malaria. Tuberculosis. Hepatitis." Squeezing my eyes shut, I shake my head in frustration. "I had these men there for the entire day, and still I couldn't pinpoint what was wrong with them. Pushed meds and liquids to ease the symptoms, but nothing worked. Nothing I did worked Michonne. Matter of fact the Chief of Emergency was just as stumped as I was."

Leaning off the table, she straightens up and nods, indicating that I should continue.

"Their fevers kept fluctuating, I had the interns monitor these men closely. And then, suddenly, their temperatures spiked and they started seizing. One guy we were able to help. Got him stabilized. But the other… well he's… he's in a coma right now as we speak."

"Rick, what are you trying to tell me?"

"The only other time I've ever seen this sort of case, first hand, was right before I left the Reynolds' program. I think, I think I was wrong about those experiments."

"Wrong how? Were these men participants?" She moves around her desk, and retrieves the infamous folder from a drawer.

"No, no they weren't. And they'd never met each other before either. They said they got sick out-of-the blue."

"What if they're lying, and they were part of those experiments, wouldn't they have had to sign some sort of waiver, or an agreement, like you had to?"

"To keep their involvement quiet? Yeah but…" Narrowing my eyes I shake my head.

In that moment a little voice comes through the door.

"Mommy?"

"I'm in here Peanut."

Andre pushes the door open and waddles into the room. He then stops and cranes his neck up to stare at me. His genuine look of puzzlement confirmed his mother's assertion-Her son hadn't noticed at all when I'd entered into his home. The adorable way his tiny nose crinkles as he scrunches his entire face, triggers a familiar memory of my own boy, Carl, when he himself was this young and innocent.

"Hey little man." I take in a deep breath and flash a friendly smile.

Michonne drops the folder on to the table and steps over to him, resting her hands on his shoulders. "Andre say hi. You remember Doctor Grimes from the hospital, don't you? He helped to fix Mommy up."

"Hi," he responds.

I stoop down. "Hey buddy, I had to borrow your Mom here for a minute, sorry 'bout that. You been a good boy for her? Not giving her too much trouble now, are you?"

"I've been good. I'm an angel." He nods with such enthusiasm I can't help but laugh at the little tyke.

"Good. That's real good, keep it that way. She may be out of the hospital but Mom still needs more time to get all better. Okay? " I swipe my hand over his head and look back up at his mother. She's studying me with smiling eyes, and I… I can't help but notice the quickening of my pulse. Flushed, I stand holding her gaze, wondering what is it about this woman captivates me.

"I um, have to put him to sleep," she says, breaking eye contact to glance at her wristwatch. "It's way past his bedtime. But…" she juts her chin towards the file, "… that, what do you want to do about it?"

"At this point, I have to look into it. I have to."

"Then stay and I'll help you."

"You up for that?" I ask, even though the sole reason for my being here tonight is knowing that I absolutely need her aid in figuring out this mess. I need to come forward. To set things right. And I know, for her, what _she_ needs, is to win… to be free from _him_.

Honestly, I need to be free too—free from a guilty conscience.

"Stay." Her voice is soft, yet vivid with determination. She ignores me and walks Andre out the door. "There's leftover pizza in the fridge. Give me twenty minutes, and we'll work out what to do next. Okay?"

I nod as a wave of relief passes over me. "Okay... Thank you."

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~


	6. Chapter 6

**~0~0~0~0~**

 **Halo: 6**

 **Michonne:**

I switch off my slumbering son's light, and ease myself out of his room. I trudge into the living area, as I peel off my cardigan sweater, and plop down on to my cluttered couch after yet another long, and harrowing day.

Shuffling aside the heap of my work related files to get comfortable, I can't help but wonder what the hell do I have an office for anymore. I should clean up but… _'Ugh.'_

An exasperated sigh flows out from me and instead, I lean forward permitting my fingers to swipe up the pink folder labeled J.G.F. from off my coffee table. I pull out the twenty-page document to review the figures from our… I mean Rick's… last fundraiser. Admittedly, things are looking good.

Doctor Grimes is dropping by tonight after his shift, hopefully within the next few minutes, to discuss this report. Although I am exhausted beyond belief, I have to admit, helping him to save his charity has been a serene highlight in my otherwise hectic existence.

To say the last few months of my life have been a whirlwind, is a grand understatement.

Ever since the first night Rick Grimes came to my home and paid me a surprise visit, in a distraught and repentant state, my world has been tossed upside down and inside out… forever altered, my reality has never been and, will never be the same.

After Rick's first disturbing encounters at the hospital with the sickly patients, we came to a decision; with much deliberation, the best course of action would be to get the Federal Bureau involved. Reynolds' secret experiments appeared to have gotten way out of hand, they needed to stop.

But first, we needed concrete confirmation before submitting any information, and, in order to do just that we, once again, tracked down and cornered Dr. Rigoux. This time at her daughter's soccer match.

Though tiny in stature, up close she looked about forty. Her rosy cheeks sagged and her forehead carried deep wrinkles. With the ADA confronting her face to face, the agitated physician was far more forthcoming, especially after we informed her of our intentions.

Rick told her we planned to anonymously forward a select portion of the data I'd acquired, to Atlanta's FBI office. Hoping it would lead to an immediate investigation of the CDC Foundation's suspect program, and to its permanent closure.

Rick also relayed the events involving the two men he attended to. He asked her if she knew them to be participants. She said no. She had no idea who they were. On the other hand, she did confess to treating a young woman with similar symptoms at Mercy hospital herself, just the week before. And, likewise, was baffled by the coincidence.

Furthermore, she disclosed that the experiments did in fact seem to cause this virus to mutate and, the effects were quickly getting worse. Despite the months spent studying the disease, they still barely knew anything about its origins or if it can be cured.

Doctor Reynolds apparently had been in panic mode, but at the same time vacillating, struggling with whether or not to hand over his findings, or lack thereof, to CDC's head office. Because of the program's already uncertain future, at her urgings, Rick and I elected to hold off on getting involved.

In the meantime, as promised, Doctor Rigoux maintained contact with her old associate, to give us updates. Eventually, she made it known to Rick when Reynolds finally caved and sent the new strain to a Dr. Jenner in CDC's head office.

This Doctor Jenner, of course, and as we'd hoped, didn't hesitate to have the program shut down permanently. The centre didn't want the failed operations tied back to them.

Needless to say, this also meant a huge loss for CTN's Pharmaceuticals.

As I now swipe the crumbs from my mouth, from the chicken wrap I just grabbed from the fridge and swallowed for dinner, Rick, at last, arrives.

"So, we had a great turnout," I say, as he scoots down next to me. "According to this report we exceeded the projected numbers for our first ever 2K marathon."

Nodding his head, he takes the document from my hand contemplating the data my accountant sent for him. "Yeah well you did good."

"Not just me. This was a joint effort. You took charge, you pushed hard to get things in order with only so much time. Your board… they saw that. They just needed a little incentive to get in to gear."

"And you, being there—the ADA with me by my side—didn't hurt either." Licking his lips he glimpses at me and smiles.

"Yeah that too," I admit with a smirk.

"You were right about one thing… we uh, we make a pretty good team."

"I agree. But let's be honest Rick, I was right about a lot of things." I bump my shoulder into his and we share a heartfelt laugh.

"Think we could handle making this an annual event?" he asks. "I mean, we should."

"Yeah, we should. I don't see why not." I take back the report and flip to the last page. "And the sooner we start planning, and promoting, the bigger the event could be. Get more sponsors, and more local celebrities involved…" Just then a not so quiet yawn rushes out as a wave of tiredness washes over me.

Raising his hand he rubs my shoulder. "Long day?"

I stand and stretch my neck and my back. "Yeah."

"How'd it go? Your mediation?"

I waltz towards my open glass doors and fold my arms across my chest. "It went as expected… not good."

When I finally confronted Mike about his Uncle's shady involvement with Doctor Reynolds, I threatened to leak his contributions myself if he didn't back off and let me do my job. He conceded and, soon enough, without fear, I had Richards behind bars.

However, now, and not to my surprise, Mike's been trying to cheat me in the divorce settlement. So, the terms of our official separation have been going back and forth for some time.

I hear Rick rise from off the couch. "You wanna tell me about it?"

I shake my head preferring to put the unsavory part of my day behind me. Instead, I behold the impressive view of the city with its monumental buildings lit up like golden gem stones, and I take solace in the crispness of the soft autumn breeze, as the air greets and envelops me like an old friend.

Suddenly, an arm curls around my waist, and soft lips caress the tip of my ear.

"When are you gonna sign those papers Michonne?"

The low rumble of his voice connects to every nerve cell in my body, and my heart beats a bit quicker.

I inhale a sharp breath. "Soon Rick. When the time is right." I rest my arms on top of his as he tightens his hold on me. "We, we spoke about this."

"Yeah, I know. You told me. That name—Anthony—grants you a certain amount of access."

"Exactly." Access which I took advantage of to attain sponsorships and publicity for our fundraiser. "But… it's more than that. You do understand, don't you?"

"I do. Still…"

And the heat from his breath travels down my neck causing my eyes to flutter shut with contentment. Months I've resisted surrendering to his embrace. Tonight, however, do I have the strength?

My head leans back against his shoulder, and I smile when he kisses my cheek. As soon as my neck twists to the side and, I tilt my chin upwards, his lips crash into mine. I indulge myself, savoring his remarkable taste, yet, with consummate caution and, only for a few moments. Not long enough to get lost in a passionate fog of need.

With great self-control, I step away from him and I amble out on to the balcony. Leaning forward I rest my forearms on the cool metal railing.

He sidles up next to me and does the same. "How long are we gonna keep doing this? Stealing… moments?"

"You don't have to wait, if you don't want to." I shake my head and glance at him with remorseful eyes, realizing how flippant I sound when my intentions are quite the opposite. "What I mean is… being a public servant and everything, it's best to avoid any scandals. And I can't risk pissing Mike off any more than I already have. So, I would understand, Rick, if you don't—"

"No…" He stops me mid-sentence by cupping my neck and circling his thumb on my face. Staring at me with those lustrous eyes he flashes a hopeful smile. "Think I'll wait, Madame ADA. That is, if you think I should… if you really want me to."

"Yeah," I whisper. "I do. I want you to."

Minutes later, I'm standing in my doorway watching him as he takes several steps back towards the elevator with much hesitancy.

"Stay safe out there," I nod and give him a reticent smile.

"I will." He gestures for me to go inside, but I remain planted, leaning against the doorframe tilting my head admiring him—His lineaments, his confidence, his vulnerability, his… everything.

I wonder about my messenger in that moment and, I can't help but muse whether or not he knew that eventually I would feel this way about this man, Doctor Richard Grimes. And if he did, well… what else about my future is Glenn privy to? I draw in a slow, deep breath to refocus because, it doesn't matter. Soon enough, none of it will matter.

"See you soon?" I ask, although I hate watching him take off.

His cocky grin broadens, he struts back over to me, and we steal another moment. He kisses me again for the night and, this time, he takes my breath away.

I am lightheaded as he pulls back, and leans his forehead against mine. I close my eyes. I hear him breathe my name so quiet and so sweet and, instinctively, I reach out to grab a hold of his tie. As I rub the fine silk between my fingertips I think to myself, _'Forbidden fruit.'_

"We shouldn't do this," I whisper with the agony of longing coursing through me. Slowly, I lift my gaze to reconnect with his and, with great difficulty I struggle to avoid sinking into the lustful gleam in his eyes—those eyes that penetrate my soul.

Like melted butter, my resolve slips away, replaced by a sudden explosion of need—A need to give in. To succumb. To yield. To…

 _'Screw it.'_

… I jump right in.

With both hands I frame his face and pull him in for a deeper kiss. His mouth is soft, sumptuous and invigorating, but his tongue is as hot and as desperate as mine. We unravel in an instant, in each other's arms, so much so that we don't stop there. We stumble inside.

My back thuds against the wall, I am pinned as the strength of his body crushes mine. My frantic hands grapple with his tie and his shirt as though my life depends on it, and in the next moment, his jacket crumples to the floor.

I can feel his fingers sliding their way into my hair, his mouth dragging along the line of my jaw, and the wicked tip of his tongue skimming down the length of my neck and across to the delicate curve of my shoulder.

My entire body shudders with his every touch.

' _Wait! Wait, wait… Stop this Michonne._ _You're so close to the finish line.'_

I don't want to debase my relationship with this man, I don't want to sully it. Just a little while longer and soon, I'll have a fresh start and I'll be free. I'll have my clean slate. I just need to wait—

 _'But I can't!'_ I scream inside my head. I can't wait any longer. It gets harder every, time I see him. Every time I'm near him, I want him. I need him. I, I... Wait, no, no. Don't say it.

 _'Say what?'_

As his unapologetic mouth recaptures mine, my head snaps to the side and I break the all-consuming kiss. I clutch his forearms to remove his hands from beneath my skirt.

"No Rick. Stop," I pant, my heart booming against my chest. "I'm sorry."

"No… No... I'm the one who's sorry," he apologizes, just as breathless. Tenderly, he hugs me. "This is not who you are. I know. It's just that I, I feel so open to you. And I've forgotten how incredible this could be."

"Me too. It's magnetic. But we should stop." I run my hands down his heaving chest and push him away, despite the exquisite desire brewing, smoldering low within me. If I don't wrestle my quivering, thirsty body away from this man, from his delicious warmth, I'll succumb entirely.

"Yeah we should," he says, although his stare remains unrelenting and overpowering.

 _'God damn it, this is torture.'_

Mercifully, in that moment, he gets a phone call from the hospital. They need him right away. So he leaves.

The next time I hear from Rick, however, is three nights later. He calls me and tells me it's too late.

~0~0~0~0~0~

Restful sleep has turned into a luxury these past few nights.

Every other day when I read the papers and watch the news, more cases of radical behaving patients make their way to the headlines. It's official: people are dying... But again, they aren't. They're turning into… something else.

This rare illness is not what they originally thought it was. None of the sample vials of infectious diseases stored at the CDC's headquarters resembles it and, as a matter of fact, reports similar to Rick's are popping up across the country now.

Even Rick's ex-wife, Lori, contacted him from her private practice located in his hometown in King's County. The Sheriff, who happened to be her old flame from high school, has his hands full maintaining calm within the small town as the residents were discovering that their quiet, hidden community was not immune to the epidemic. Despite the department's best efforts, the rate of the spread of the disease is escalating.

It isn't long before the CDC, and the military, order everyone to remain in-doors and to avoid contact with anyone who is remotely sick. I comply. The mere images on TV are unduly vivid and extreme.

Not long after I feel myself eventually, drifting off into slumber, does someone startle me by flipping on my light switch.

"Michonne."

I jump up to discover Glenn in my room. A thinly veiled expression of panic in his eyes makes me throw back my covers and in instant, I am on my feet. "What's wrong?"

"It's time. It's time to go," he says, and in two seconds he crosses the room to my bed and grips me hard by the arms. Not in his usual dress code of a casual button up shirt and brown jeans, tonight, Glenn shows up in all black: From his zip jacket, to his t-shirt, and down to his boots.

"What?" I ask, unsure on how to respond. "Time to go where?"

"Do you trust me?"

I nod. "With my life."

"Then start packing, grab Andre, and run."

A jolt of adrenaline shoots through me and I start scrambling like a wild rabbit. Though my mind is reeling, trying to make sense of everything, I dart around my apartment wordlessly. A million questions zip through my head, but I shut them out… I shut them all out, and force myself to concentrate on the task at hand. Moving like a bandit from one room to the next. Bags; clothes; blankets; toys; books; jewellery…

"No, not that," Glenn reprimands me. "Supplies: food, water, medication." He hands me my first aid kit.

My heart thumps like crazy. "Are you serious?"

"You're gonna need it."

I waver and regard him incredulously as he removes my favorite Cds and switches them with kitchen knives.

"Things are about to go to shit."

Me, I'm trying desperately not to lose _my_ shit. His urgency scares me. "What, you got a distinct sense of smell?" I say attempting to make light of the situation, when in truth I am quaking inside. "A nose like Titus?"

"What?" He meets my eyes and scrunches his face bewildered.

"The dog… You don't remember that?"

"Michonne I... Listen can we talk about this later?"

Less than six months ago, and he doesn't understand my reference to the first time we met?

I shake off his forgetfulness and sum it up to him being distracted. I tighten my grip on my bag and, before I could ask another question, someone starts banging down my door.

It's Mike.

A snarl of frustration escapes from Glenn. "Man I hate that guy. Listen, you need to call Rick and find out where you can meet him. I'm not leaving until I know you're safe. So get rid of Mike."

"Okay." I hustle out of my bedroom and into the hallway to let him in, but my hand barely turns the lock when he shoves through my entrance frantic, his eyes wild and bloodshot red.

"Where's Andre? Where is he? Where's my son?"

My hand instinctively flew up and lands on his chest to stop him from venturing further. His T-shirt is drenched in sweat. "Mike what's gotten into you? Why are you here?"

He pushes past me and stomps towards Andre's bedroom, but I scuttle around him and situate my body like a barrier in front of our son's door. "Don't!" My voice is firm but quiet. "He's asleep. What's the matter with you?"

He steps away shaking his head, sputtering some explanation about Atlanta no longer being safe. I watch him pace to and fro as he enlightens me on his plan to leave, not just Georgia, but the country, tonight. This isn't a coincidence. Whatever Glenn knows Mike knows as well.

Terry's waiting in the car outside, he says. His mother… already at the airport. And he wants both me and my son to run off with them too.

"Why isn't Atlanta safe?" I tilt my chin up, daring him to reveal the depth of his knowledge.

"Haven't you been watching the news?"

"I have." Squinting my eyes I shake my head confused by his rashness. "But we're all advised to stay indoors, not to go jet setting to some other part of the world."

"Well I don't care. I'm taking my boy somewhere where it's safe. And I'm not asking you." He grabs my shoulders but I tug away from his grip.

"I won't allow you to leave with him Mike."

"Then come with me. Because either way, he's getting out of this city tonight."

My jaw clenches, and I stare into his crazed eyes as he looms closer to me. If he only knew I had Andre's bag packed already. But there was no way in hell I was about to place the safety of both our lives in his hysterical hands. Especially since he has a history of not being straight with me.

"Okay. Okay, you're right." I try to appease him. "Give me ten minutes to get my things in order, our passports, we'll need them, and I'll meet you downstairs."

Though I attempt to hide my suspicion, the distrust in his eyes is blatant.

Yet, he nods, "Okay, ten minutes. But I'll wait in the living room."

As he seats himself on the recliner, I hurry back to Glenn in my bedroom, he's standing by my window, right where I left him. "Did you hear any of that?" I ask.

"Yeah." He draws my curtain and glimpses outside. "What do you wanna do?"

"I need a distraction. I have to find some way to stall."

"I wish you could." He nods me over. "Come, take a look."

I stand beside him and, examine what's taking place right in front of my window. It's pandemonium. Streams of people are filtering out into the streets, stuffing suitcases in to their trunks, tying mattresses to the roofs of their cars…

"You want me to take Andre out _there_?"

"You need to call Rick."

I turn to pick up my phone from my bed, hoping I'd be able to reach Rick, and that he's not swamped with work on a late night shift. As I start to dial, I hear a click, the thudding of footsteps, and the unmistakable whimper of my child.

"Mike!" I howl his name as I bolt out in to the corridor, just in time to see him sprint through the apartment door, and down the narrow hallway with my baby seized in his arms.

With my heart drumming in my ears, I take off running after him as he bypasses the elevators and heads straight towards the exit. He shoves the door open and in a second disappears down the stairwell.

"Mike, no!" Trying to catch up as I follow him down the stairs, proves to be difficult, his strides are twice the length of mine, and the possibility of him getting away makes my vision go blurry.

 _'Mike stop, stop, stop!'_

Then, out of nowhere, Glenn sprints past me. He grips the staircase railing and propels himself over, dropping down on to the next flight of stairs, cutting off Mike's escape. I halt as he unzips his jacket and, pulling it to one side, reveals a weapon of some kind.

"Hey, don't be an asshole. Put the kid down," Glenn says.

"W-what? Who the hell are you!?" Mike stumbles back and shouts at him. "Do you know who I am? This is my child!"

Glenn looks up at me. "Come get him."

My feet moves back into action and I hustle down towards them, taking two steps at a time. "Please give him to me," I beg my husband, my voice thick with despair.

Mike turns to face me, reluctant. Sweat drips from his face and he staggers back against the wall."No… you can't, have… him." Breathless, Mike starts to tremble, coughing uncontrollably. The instant I see blood spew from his mouth, I don't hesitate to rip my son from his arms.

"Michonne stand back," Glenn says. "Actually, get out of here!"

Before I could ask why he withdraws his weapon and I, without thinking, huddle Andre close so that he doesn't see when Glenn slams it against his father's head, knocking him out.

"You're to get out of Atlanta. Immediately," Glenn orders, taking my hand and leading me out of the stairwell, back into the main hallway of another floor. "Keep your eyes open, and your guard up. From here on out you see anyone coming towards you, you think they're a threat, you defend yourself. Alright? Don't hesitate."

Using the elevator we head back up to my apartment, grabbing my bags before evacuating the building, to get to my car. While I buckle Andre in his car seat, Glenn throws our belongings in to the trunk. I attempt now to get a hold of Rick, but, the signal is out. My next option: drive through the chaos to the hospital to find him. Glenn, however, says to me that's a hard no.

My head whips around and tilts up when I hear a blood curdling scream from inside my building.

"Hey, look at me." Glenn forces my attentions back to him. "No matter what you hear, or what you see, don't give up. No matter what or who you lose, you forge ahead. You fight. You survive. You do whatever it takes."

I throw my arms around him. "Stay with me," I plead, my shaking hands clutch his body and I bury my face in his neck, petrified by the horror show the world is turning in to.

"I, I can't," he whispers. "This isn't our fight. We only came because something went wrong and things changed."

I draw back and gape at him, too overwhelmed by shock to say anything.

 _'We?' Who's 'we'?'_

But then again… somehow I, I always knew. Glenn… he looks at me differently.

"You're, you're not…" I mumble.

"I've said too much. I'm sorry." His features pinch closer together with regret and he shakes his head.

"Hey! Michonne! Wait!"

My gaze shoots behind him to discover Rick jumping out of his car, waving from across the street. He isn't alone though, to my surprise. Both Beth and Sasha exit the same vehicle and, all three are hurtling in my direction.

Glenn steps to the side and utters, "Goodbye."

I watch as he takes off to the end of the block, and when he vanishes around the curb, I comprehend fully that I'll never see him again.

"Hey," Rick appears and I am elated to see him. Cupping my neck, he brings his lips to my forehead and kisses me. "Hey, been trying to call you but…"

"Yeah, me too." I nod to our mutual friends. "Everyone's okay?"

"As okay as we can be," Sasha replies.

Rick wraps his arm around my shoulder. "I'm thinking you, me and Andre, with Beth and Sasha… we get on the interstate and head south."

"South where?"

"Michonne—Carl, Lori—I need to make sure they're safe."

"Of course, but… I was thinking of laying low at the CDC… or one of those refugees' centers they intend to set up."

Narrowing his eyes, he shrugs and shakes his head at me. "They can't protect us. We're on our own." His definitive tone lets me know that I shouldn't object. Rick's been at the hospital round the clock, so he knows what he knows.

I don't insist. I trust him. Instead I ask, "So we get to King's County, and then what?"

Beth swipes her wispy blonde hair from her face and tucks it behind her ears. Her large eyes grew bigger with fear. "W-we make our way to my Daddy's farm. It's secluded. And the last time I spoke to him, it hasn't gotten as bad out there as it is here."

"We can stay there until we're no longer at risk," Rick suggests. "Until we know we're safe."

"But not me." Whereas Beth's voice is tainted with uncertainty, Sasha's was steady with confidence. She says she's heading to Florida to meet up with her brother and niece. "I know it's a long way, but I can't get a flight out, and they're all that I have."

"No Sasha," Rick says. "You have us now. We'll come out of this together, alright? The plan is to take it one step at a time, we get what we need then we hit the road tonight. It's not safe for any of us anymore."

Without further discussion, I retrieve my son and our bags and follow Rick across to his car.

"Wait…" Sasha furrows her brows and jerks her head skyward. "Do you hear that?"

Above the sounds of honking horns and frenzied voices of alarmed people, a dull, yet distinct noise of hovering approaches.

Suddenly, they appear high above us—two helicopters flying north to the heart of the city. As our eyes trail them in to the distance, a piercing siren wails, and within seconds a single explosion lights up the darkened sky.

People scream and Beth cries out. "Oh, God! What was that?"

"The hospital," Rick mutters.

Taking it as our cue to get the hell out of there, we pile into the vehicle and, in a flash Rick's gunning down the street, dancing in between the increasing traffic exiting the city.

Next to Andre and me in the backseat, Sasha stretches her hand to the front and grips Rick's shoulder. "Grimes, turn on the radio. We gotta keep up with the news… with what's happening and what's going on."

As we steer into the unknown, Glenn's words, ' _No matter what... You don't give up,'_ replay in my head. Despite everything I've been through, am I prepared to do what needs to be done, to stay alive? To do whatever it takes?

I snuggle my little one, I breathe him in and whisper, "Mummy loves you," in his ear. A powerful sensation then seeps into me. It takes root, it grows, and I say to myself...

 _'Yes! Whatever it takes.'_

In the rearview mirror, Rick's gaze catches mine and he mouths, "You okay?"

I nod and I smile. I mouth back, "I'm okay."

I have to be. I don't have a choice. The world is changing… forever altered, our reality will never be the same.

 **~0~0~0~0~**

 **END.**


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